


The World Can Be Ours

by Anonymous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - The Greatest Showman, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Historical References, Light Angst, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, the romance is mostly background save a few Declarations of Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 26,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21806425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In the streets of London, a young boy with glorious dreams finds a way to make them come true. In a world where the ordinary is applauded, it takes patience and dedication - and a good team - to create something truly extraordinary.
Relationships: Jane Foster/Thor, Loki & Thor (Marvel), Loki/Sigyn (Marvel)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This story somewhat follows the plot of the movie The Greatest Showman, though it takes place in London instead of New York. Tags will be updated with the progression of chapters.  
> Hope you all enjoy!

Thor gazed at the hat in the window display, admiring the deep red velvet and silver trim. His reflection in the glass, though faint, was directly under the hat, giving him the impression that a ghostly imitation of himself was wearing it. The hat, he mused, was symbolic of his true desire to lead a life outside poverty, to afford such indulgences and show off his affluence, and provide for a financially secure household. What a dream, what a gracious dream it was, because a dream was all that it could be, especially with the constant reminders of his father’s trade.

The livelihood that depended almost entirely on a rich man’s wardrobe.

“Son,” his father called, snapping him out of his reverie. Thor bounded up to him, keeping up the fast pace since he couldn’t quite yet match his father’s long strides. As the pair made their way uptown to their regular destination, Thor found himself introspective once more. No matter how hard things got, his father never lost his temper with him. Their life was trying - incredibly so, at times, but it was far from miserable, and Thor was grateful for what little they had. 

Thor carried half the bundle of rolled-up fabric, noting absently that it was much lighter than normal. He wondered why, and remembered the young newsboy down the street shouting a headline about the price of cloth and other materials steadily rising that morning. His father couldn’t increase the cost of his charges, though, otherwise their patrons could simply refuse their services and hire others to fill the position, leaving them out of business and with lesser funds for all the rolls of unused fabric which would be part of the man’s bountiful wardrobe.

Father and son trudged up the gravel path, and his father fussed over him as usual, making sure that he was presentable enough in his worn jacket before rapping thrice at the door. The butler, who opened it moments after, ushered them inside with a curt nod. After that, it was simply a matter of slipping into an overly familiar routine (Thor couldn’t think of any other person’s life which was more monotonous than the days at the manor), with Thor hanging back somewhat awkwardly and giving his father the occasional hand as the lord of the house discussed different styles and cuts with his father.

His gaze ambled over to the highlight of his visits, his best (and only) friend, Jane Foster. She too found her life dreadfully dull, and had confided in him once that she wanted to follow her adoptive father’s footsteps and study the stars when she grew older. He’d assured her that she would be the best scholar in the discipline, and she’d laughed it off. Right now, she caught his eye and raised a brow as her governess corrected her posture and grip on the fine china cup which was, naturally, full to the brim with tea.

Thor grinned and snatched up the small bowl of pins as well as a few other tools his father had left on the small table, swiftly tinkering with them and shaping what he wanted from them. She watched him curiously, giving into her governess’ sharp instructions without really paying attention, as he lifted his makeshift cup to his lips, mimicking her actions, and pretended to choke on a small rag he’d left on the edge.

His little joke had its intended effect on the recipient, and Jane snorted into her tea, spewing it all over the lace tablecloth in a most undignified manner as she tried to disguise her laughter. The amused air between them faded, however, when Doctor Selvig briskly strode up to her and began to chastise her for her behaviour. Thor decided that he could not let that stand, cleared his throat nervously and stepped up to cut off the irate scientist.

“It’s my fault, sir, I made her laugh.” As soon as he confessed, however, he regretted his decision. Selvig walked slowly towards him. 

“Well, thank you for your honesty,” he said, and the next thing Thor knew was a stinging feeling across his left cheek. Shock rooted him to the spot, silencing him beyond the temporary paralysis caused by the pain.

“Stay away from my daughter.”

* * *

Jane spotted Thor before he saw her, which wasn’t too surprising. Her best friend sat at the edge of the bay, looking out to the horizon. Her soft shoes - unsuited for the sloped, gravelly terrain, skidded as she did her best to descend the plane. She could see all the signs of Thor’s upset mood in the slump of his shoulders, the way he listlessly fiddled with the stones by his side instead of throwing them into the water as he normally would, undoubtedly from the disaster of that morning. She had no doubt that his father had scolded him as well – the Odinsons prized dignity above all else, and let nothing get in the way of the way they presented themselves. Thor’s pride blazed through the tattered waistcoat his father had taken in and passed to him, and it had now taken a hit. 

“How did you get out?”

“Through the window.”

They sat in comfortable silence, skipping rocks over the surface of the water. She sighed. “It was ridiculous, though.”

“It was,” he agreed. “You looked half asleep.”

“Might have done it too. Then I’d have been caught sleeping holding my china upright.”

His laughter carried over the faint hiss of the wind, warming her instantly. He scrambled to his feet and extended a hand. “There’s something I wanted to show you, actually.”

Curious, she shrugged and accepted his proffered hand, permitting him to lead her past her home to the very last, abandoned mansion in the street. It was mostly overrun by nature now, with long tendrils of ivy curling around the high gates, and vines occupying the space where a family had lived, decades ago. She then realised that he was mimicking a gentleman’s stance while accompanying a lady for an early constitutional, or at a dinner party. His wit was rare to witness, but those moments it surfaced were truly the best planned. She grinned up at him.

He only let go of her hand once they reached the gate, using his gangly energy to hoist himself over the bars. Jane huffed, unamused at his antics, and slipped through a large gap into the courtyard. The two of them made their way through the lonely halls and corridors of the place, with Thor occasionally picking up some random objects lying around and tinkering with them deftly. He suddenly lit a match, causing her to start badly at the light, and placed the small lantern into his contraption, spinning the exterior cylinder.

There were holes poked in the cylinder, causing dotted patterns of light to swirl around the walls and ceiling of the ballroom they currently occupied. She was entranced by the warm golden light, so much so that she started again when Thor blew out the light. Of course, she would forever deny her small squeak as the light went out.

* * *

Time tends to fly by, especially when one’s life is bound by routine. Thor found days blending into weeks, and subsequently into months where nothing really changed. He and his father would go up to the manor, where Thor would obediently assist his father in taking measurements, cutting fabrics and holding them together, all the while taking care to do exactly what he was told, nothing more. They would return, and Thor would be free to do what he liked for the rest of the day.

Thor kept himself busy for the most part, by working errands for those who needed them – usually the baker or one of the shopkeepers, though some of the families whom he was acquainted with occasionally needed his services. He was usually paid alternatively with money, which he saved up for the most part, and education by way of those families that had children of his age. His father supported this, of course, and by the time he had turned fifteen, he had roughly the same amount of knowledge of a man raised in a moderately wealthy family in the city.

His services had taken a different turn, though, and he turned to clerking for his main source of income; something which was reducing drastically at the manor. The job paid well enough, and Thor had saved up quite a large sum that they wouldn’t run out of money for their immediate needs in the near future. He was never gladder than now to have prepared in advance.

All this and more happened in five years. During Thor’s fourteenth year, Jane announced a rather shocking bit of news. Well, shocking to _him_.

It wasn’t completely out of the place for wealthy lords to send their daughters off to finishing school where they were cultured into prim and proper ladies. She had fought tooth and nail against Doctor Selvig, only relenting when he offered to allow her to study at the very university he had, and pursue the field of education she’d wanted since childhood (which just so happened to coincide with his own).

“Father offered to let me study at his college after I was done with finishing school,” she explained, and while Thor hadn’t known how to take the news, there really wasn’t much he could have done about it than encourage her to accept the proposal, that it was what she had always wanted. She’d reluctantly agreed, not happy with the idea of sent to a school where they would try to shape her into the very opposite of what she wanted to be.

And so, on the day of her departure, he bade her farewell with a false smile on his face, bidding her good luck on her ventures and promising to write.


	2. Chapter 2

Finishing school was ridiculous, in Jane’s opinion, and her new friend Darcy agreed. They were both kindred spirits, of a sort, Jane mused often. Where the rest of the girls were more than happy to make light conversation about Miss So-and-so’s engagement or the latest trends in fashion that had been sweeping the country, Jane much preferred to be curled up with a book (while she wasn’t preparing to study astronomy) or writing a letter to Thor.

Three months in, she noticed that Darcy didn’t seem to have the same problem, getting along equally well with all the girls. She knew when to indulge in gossip while firmly turning down offers to tea-time gatherings. She was more or less the reason Jane had left the dormitory throughout the years in school. Jane sat through Darcy’s eager lessons in conduct, specifically in finding a good balance between mingling with society and staying by herself in the dorms.

Six months into her schooling, she found herself going to the most influential parties with her classmates and pointedly ignoring the rest. She spent most of her time alone or in Darcy’s company, making sure that she never made more of an impression with the teachers than was absolutely necessary, nor any less. There was no need to draw so much attention to herself, not when she rebelled against becoming a lady ‘as was expected of her class’, as Mrs. Bennett usually said.

In the midst of endless poise and etiquette lessons, she found her best friend’s letters to be highlights of her weeks, often reading them over and over late into the night. They never failed to lift her mood, as Thor usually narrated some ridiculous incident that had happened with his employers, or with the family that had offered to educate him in exchange for his services. While the letters varied in length and content, they were always cheerful. He urged her to show them how fast she could learn, to sooner become an academic and fulfill that dream.

She decided to take his advice, and learned to sew, paint tablecloths in an almost frenzied fashion. Darcy was shocked at this new development but wholeheartedly joined her as she mastered repertoires of music on the piano, attended dinner parties, and gave the best appearance she could manage of a lady born and bred in high society. True to his words, things started to move faster, just the way she wanted them to.

* * *

Life seemed to creep by, at first. Of course, since Doctor Selvig had gone with Jane to the university, Thor’s father had found a few new patrons who paid quite well, considering the times, and kept a steady flow of income. Thor too contributed, working for long hours at whichever new job managed to find and returning home to assist his father.

This was when things actually started to fall apart.

It started in one particularly cold winter, when his father caught the illness that had been spreading around town. He had assured him that it was simply the flu, but it hadn’t been long before he’d been unable to work. Thor was caught between working his various jobs and helping his father, and decided that the latter was of superior importance.

He still wrote to Jane. His letters, scrawled hastily in the dim light of a single candle in scrap paper or old records and sealed with the very wax that dripped his candle, starkly contrasted her even penmanship, which bordered on calligraphy – and might well have been, on the scented paper and engraved seal of her school that practically screamed her status. He wrote to Jane still, and she wrote him back, of her new friend Miss Lewis, a fellow academic from her old finishing school who had very soon become a close companion.

He did not, however, write about his father’s dwindling condition, which soon worsened alarmingly. Thor had worked overtime then, earning all he could while still having time to take care of his ailing parent. Still, dread crept up on him, manifesting in the form of whispers as he ran from place to place, barely giving himself time to take a breath; in the form of the way he would startle awake, half incoherent from terror, before he seized control of his wandering thoughts and dragged himself over to check up on his father.

One day, one cold winter day, that long dreaded event sent his life into shambles.

For a while now, the duration of his father’s illness, most of his expenses had been used on medicines and other supplies, and the rest for food. The little he had saved was now put to use for the exact opposite. Thor could remember next to nothing about that day, but he remembered holding his father’s old hat as the sealed wooden coffin was gently lowered into the freshly dug grave. Snow fell down in flakes, but for the first time, he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the weather. He’d clutched the hat tighter, his last link to his family.

The next day, he left town.

* * *

When Thor and Jane had been younger, barely children, they’d made sure to meet almost every day. Now, when Jane returned to the townhouse after finishing her studies, she wondered why exactly he’d stopped writing to her recently. Though the flow of letters stuttered sometimes, they hadn’t ceased, at least for the length of her education at the finishing school. Her time studying astronomy had been almost entirely letter-free. She knew, however, from the letters they exchanged, that their childhood friendship had blossomed into something quite different and yet so familiar: they were in love. She hoped that he would come up to talk to her father about courting her, though – she was of marriageable age, at four-and-twenty years, and her father would likely have plans for her to wed into a comfortably rich family.

Father supported her through her education, even letting her discoveries be known as hers – more often than not under a false name, but still _hers_. He was simply against the idea of her becoming a spinster, much in the way most men hoped their daughters married into wealthy families and lived their lives in comfort. To tell the truth, she too wasn’t entirely fond of the prospect of being unmarried either, for entirely different reasons. Still, she waited. She waited for as long as she could for Thor to turn up one day and whisk her off her feet. She waited, though she was far from idle – for while she waited, she continued to study the stars.

One day, she slipped out of the manor into the streets of the city, disguised in clothes that were close enough to resemble those of the women who lived downtown. The brown hood of her cloak was pulled up, concealing her features from immediate view. She made forward to cross the road, when a strong pair of arms pulled her back. She cried out, though it was abruptly cut off by the appearance of a coach hurtling past right where she had stood seconds ago. She turned to thank the stranger who had saved her life, and a flicker of recognition seemed to pass over his face.

Oddly, the man looked familiar. His sandy blond hair fell into his eyes, slightly too long in a way that made her think he’d forgotten to trim it. His demeanour and way he carried himself would have had her assume he was a gentleman, though she knew otherwise after one glance into his electric blue eyes.

“Thor?”

* * *

Thor had spent the years since his father’s death in the army. He had since been honourably discharged on account of an injury, and while he wasn’t as wealthy as he would have liked, he had enough to lead a somewhat comfortable life. He’d stopped writing to Jane, though he had been given a packet containing years’ worth of correspondence, which left him feeling guilty about his sudden silence. The truth was, he couldn’t deal with the constant reminders of his life before, so he’d run away and joined the army instead. The next best option had been boarding a ship and building his way up in the New World, but Thor had barely enough to make ends meet, let alone money for a ticket.

He figured that the universe would have had enough of that by now, and had decided to send him a very big reminder why he had stopped and returned.

Jane Foster had grown from an excitable young girl to a charming lady, still in wonder of the universe and what it had to offer, though her endless energy had abated somewhat, manifesting in the form of intelligence and quick wit in her eyes. Thor would be lying if he said he wasn’t absolutely head over heels for her. Though he knew he loved her well before their reunion, seeing her after so long seemed to stoke a flame within him, urging him to do the right thing and approach her father to court her.

The aging scientist hadn’t liked him much, as a child, but he hoped Doctor Selvig would put that past them now, if he saw that they were both in love.

That particular discussion had lasted long into the night, and Thor had been interrogated sharply about his life and intentions with Jane. He supposed he must have had the right answers, since the man had given the couple his approval. Arrangements had been made for a chaperone, and thus, Thor began yet another chapter of his life.


	3. Chapter 3

While this entirely new chapter held many promises for Thor, he was wary enough and cautious as he hadn’t been in childhood – ensuring that he was secure enough where he stood before taking another step forward. He had joined a shipping company, rising through the ranks swiftly and efficiently. All was well, and he spent the evenings and days off with Jane, under the stern glare of the ever-vigilant chaperone. The couple, in hushed tones, liked to guess at the reason for her constant surliness. It often led to the most ridiculous and hilarious scenarios being thought up, turning into a contest of sorts to see who could come up with the most absurd or outlandish theory (usually Jane).

Eventually, with Doctor Selvig’s blessing, he proposed to her. He chalked that day up as one of the best in his life, as clichéd as it was. Seeing the giddy look on Jane’s face that definitely mirrored his own, if the way he felt was any indication, was something akin to a rare miracle, not to be witnessed by mortals (save him).

The wedding was another day Thor knew to be fantastic. It wasn’t particularly showy or extravagant, though it took quite a sum from his savings, but it was perfect, more so than his fanciful childhood daydreams. They had invited a few of Jane’s friends from the university and finishing school – Darcy Lewis, in particular, had threatened to gatecrash the event (though Jane had been quick to assure her that they wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving her out) – along with Thor’s colleagues. Doctor Selvig had taken the opportunity to invite a few select individuals who would be excellent connections, should Thor or Jane have need of them in the future. While Thor wasn’t particularly happy about this, he knew that it was mutually beneficial.

The couple only moved in together quite some time after the wedding, and Thor knew that he would never have been able to predict the events that led to them finding a home in a small apartment by the docks that Thor had remembered owning after his return from the war. While he had purchased a house closer to Jane’s, a certain incident led him to sell the cabin and return to his old, modest accommodations near the docks.

It happened like this: the shipping company that Thor worked for had its entire fortune depending on the fate of a small fleet of ships headed back from the East. The fruits of the trade determined the possibility for another successful venture. Thor had been getting reports of storms hitting areas near the path along which the ships would sail. While he normally liked such weather, he would have given his right hand or perhaps his eye to have the ability to control the weather. Perhaps then he could guarantee them safe passage through the seas, like his mythical namesake.

“Mr. Odinson?” a young clerk called, interrupting his thoughts. “A letter for you.”

Thor took the letter. He broke the seal, and read it once. Then he read it again. He swore.

That evening, about half the employees in the company – including himself – found themselves short of jobs.

* * *

Thor had had his fair share of managing his finances while living in poverty. He knew where to find ways of making a quick sum, both legal and otherwise. He avoided the illegal means, for obvious reasons, but he couldn’t deny that he’d been tempted more than once to consort to such measures. He had excellent connections, many of whom he’d known since he was a teenager. Thor could make an honest job out of nearly anything, and he was accustomed to providing for more than one person at a time, namely the time he had to take care of his ailing father while paying for medicines. Not that they’d done much good, he thought bitterly.

He couldn’t say he was feeling much else these days. This was far from the life he’d planned for himself and Jane; it was safe to say that it was the exact opposite. His old visions of wealth pouring through every inch of the home he wished to have seemed to melt away, illusions of grandeur replaced by gritty reality and leaky roofs. After he lost his job, he seemed to have hit a particularly bad time where he simply couldn’t find anyone willing to employ him. He glanced at Jane, who was currently asleep beside him, and sighed. Jane never complained about the creaking furniture or the hole in the roof of their small apartment. He really couldn’t believe that she was here with him, that he’d actually done what he’d wanted to for all these years and _married her_ , even if they weren’t living the life they’d planned during their courtship.

He must have fallen asleep partly through his musings, for the next thing he could remember was opening his eyes to a crack of light that always filtered through the blinds in the morning, right in his eyes – as good a wake-up call as any, he supposed. He turned over, silently debating yanking a pillow over his head and calling it a day, not quite ready to go job-hunting all day long. He absolutely detested the process, mainly because of the judgement on the faces of all the others who applied for the same. He could go a few days without having to face _that_.

“Morning,” Jane greeted, when he faced her side of the bed. She had propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him slightly.

He didn’t say anything, just smiled and hummed in reply. Jane would forgive him due to the soft contentment he knew she’d see in his smile, the warm and fuzzy feeling he felt every time he set his eyes on her. He remembered what he’d been thinking last night, however, and the smile quickly fell from his expression.

“Jane,” he asked carefully, sitting up and gesturing for her to follow, “do you ever… regret this?”

She frowned. He took it for what it was, an invitation for him to continue.

“This… style of living, I mean.”

“I’m here with you,” she said softly. “I have my research, a good view of the stars, and I have you. It’s all I could want.”

“I – that is true, but this isn’t _quite_ what I expected our lives to be like.”

“Well, then, what did you expect?”

That was a _very_ good question, and quite loaded too.

“Lights,” he said after a long pause. “Adventure, mystery, all of it. We’d be in the light. You, you’d be known for your research, and I would… I’d come up with something,” he said, with a shrug. It may not be the answer she expected, but it was true. It was also a good way of deflecting, and she knew it as well as he did.

She, with the grace of an angel, didn’t point it out.

* * *

A week later, it happened to be a _very_ special day. Thor hadn’t forgotten it at all, but he’d had to stay overnight as he continued on his job hunt. He absolutely detested it, though he was more than used to searching for employment. He’d take it from any corner that offered it; rather, he’d _have_ done so in the past. Now, though, someone else was a very prominent figure in his life who deserved as much time he could offer with her.

As it was, he arrived at their colony well after the sun had set, which meant that Jane was probably on the roof stargazing. He grinned at the conversation that was to come. He hadn’t told her yet that he was to return that day, once he’d checked the date and realised that he wanted to surprise her with something, and he’d had an excellent idea for that.

Jane was, as he’d expected, on the roof, but rather than laying on the floor facing the sky, she’d taken a seat by the edge (safe enough that he didn’t panic about her falling off) and currently had her back to him. Thor used this advantage to creep up behind her and sweep her off her feet. “How is my dear birthday girl?” he asked by way of greeting.

Jane, who had tensed initially, relaxed when he spoke. “I didn’t know you’d be home,” she said, hugging him to the best of her abilities from the awkward angle she’d been lifted into. Thor set her down gently, chuckling.

She shoved him lightly, playfully. Not that it had much effect; he had yet to lose the muscle he’d gained from his military years. Even now, he tried to keep a healthy regimen as much as he could.

“Jane, what if we just… ran away?”

She frowned. “What do you mean, run away?”

“We could go on an adventure, anywhere you want. Within reasonable travelling distance,” he added as an afterthought. It wouldn’t do to promise her a trip to, say, the East, and not be able to journey there.

“Would I get to continue my research?” she asked, the only question which mattered.

“Of course!” He would never dream of keeping her away from her research.

She grinned up at him. “Yes. We can absolutely run away together. Where do you suggest we go?”

For the first time since his job sank down into a seabed, Thor could feel some light enter his life again. “I thought we could start small,” he said. “Let’s go downtown.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had entirely too much fun with prodding the fourth wall here.  
> The docks here are the London Dockyard, and while this story follows the plot of TGS, Jane and Thor don't have kids.  
> Hope you enjoyed!


	4. Chapter 4

Downtown was a lot _more_ than he’d expected, somehow. He’d just returned from the city, but there was a sort of hustle in the streets that he’d never get used to. Thor knew that it wasn’t so simple to move into a house downtown – they’d have to be able to afford it, Thor thought, as he went down to the bank that morning, a quick idea forming in his mind. It wasn’t possible with his current income – or lack of it, since they were living off Jane’s inheritance and the meagre savings Thor had managed before his position at the shipping company had sunk to the bottom of the ocean with those ships, but he remembered reading an old story, years ago, which just might have provided the basis for this idea.

“Mr. Odinson,” the man in front of him said at last, taking off his glasses, “this… _venture_ … that you propose – it’s incredibly risky, not to mention downright bizarre. The bank will need substantial collateral-”

Thor knew that the man would have gone on about collateral for far longer than would be necessary, so he slid the folder of legal documents across the desk, effectively cutting him off.

“I own the deed and title to every trading vessel in this flotilla,” he said, not strictly lying. The man before him looked impressed.

“I see. And where are these ships now?”

“In the South China Seas.” Thor didn’t miss a beat in his reply. So what if he was being too literal when he said it? The official in front of him wouldn’t know that the seas were currently in the ocean’s trenches, instead of sailing back like he’d implied? Although, he _did_ own the deed and title, as he’d said. Which was why he’d been pressured to turn in almost everything he had and resign from the company.

Then again, this was all carefully concealed from the innocent bank manager sitting across the desk. “Well, then! What do you plan to call this scheme of yours?”

* * *

“ _Asgard Museum of Curiosities_ ,” Jane read off the sign above the entrance of Thor’s new project. “Why Asgard?”

“To suit my name,” he said, and she snorted in a very unladylike manner. “What? _Odinson and Foster_ didn’t quite have the same ring to it.”

“How about just _Foster_?” Jane asked cheekily.

“I considered it,” he replied immediately, “and thought that you’d want to name an astronomy exhibit after yourself than this.”

“So,” Jane said with an approving nod, “what exactly would _this_ be?”

“It’s a place to be transported, to let your imagination soar!”

“Hmm. Like all those stories we made up of our chaperone?”

He blinked. “Er. I suppose I can see why you’d say that. No, this is a place to see things in your life that you’d never see elsewhere!”

A guillotine blade suddenly slid down and cut off Marie Antoinette’s head.

“Funnily, I _have_ seen that,” Jane said dryly. “In history books. Again, I have to ask, what exactly is this supposed to be?”

“A museum of wax figures.” Thor guided her away from the decapitated wax form of the late French queen. “They’re all the rage now – look, there’s Napoleon, and Achilles right beside him!”

“Napoleon’s next to Achilles?” Jane sounded distracted. Which was understandable, considering her next remark was, “I thought Patroclus should be next to Achilles.”

Thor shrugged. “I don’t think he’s a part of the exhibit, love.”

Jane sighed. The two of them explored the place for a bit, before she decided that it was time to speak up. “Thor…”

“I know how this looks,” he said, grasping her hands in his.

“If you didn’t, I’d be worried.”

He frowned. “This is just the beginning,” he promised. “There’s much more to come.”

Jane nodded, though she wasn’t too happy about this. “How much did we put into this?”

“It’s complicated.”

“How much?” she insisted.

He only hesitated for a moment. He’d never lie to her; she knew and trusted him not to. “Everything.”

She nodded again, taking her time to process this. If it made him squirm uncomfortably for her reaction, well, that was her intention. She wanted him to know _exactly_ what she thought of this. A few retorts rose to her tongue, but she swallowed them almost immediately. She _had_ just recently joined the Royal Astronomical Society (one of the few women to be able to do so), and he’d been completely supportive of her the entire time. While this was financially a risky endeavour, she couldn’t begrudge his enthusiasm.

“You’re either a genius or a madman,” she finally said, the most neutral way of affirming her support she could think of.

Thor grinned and kissed her lightly. “Or both.”

* * *

Elsewhere, a young playwright set down his fountain pen on the desk, beside the messy stack of papers he set to rearranging meticulously. Gathering them into a bundle, he stood and took the manuscript down to the company to be reviewed. He _was_ producing it, but for some reason his colleagues – a _fine_ lot they were, he thought bitterly – wanted the approval of some stranger they’d met discreetly who had offered them his services.

He hastily wrapped up the bundle and dropped them in his case, considering delivering the script in person. It was what the others expected of someone younger, who was new to the playing fields. Well, one would suppose that they’d have found out it wasn’t quite the case, but sometimes things couldn’t be helped. He made a split-second decision and rang for the butler, asking him to have the package delivered to the right address. He scribbled out a note politely and curtly apologising briefly for his inability to attend in person and passed it on.

He purposefully strode down the stairs, yanking his overcoat and hat off the rack and shrugging them on. He considered flipping up the collar as he stepped out into the porch but decided against it. Irritated as he was, the aesthetic wasn’t going to help him lift his mood (the most it would do was keep out the breeze, which sort of defeated the point). The only thing that _would_ help, right now, he knew, was a long walk around the city, preferably in the parts less shadowed by soot and fog. He could pay a visit to his old friend in Soho, or perhaps visit that club he’d taken him to. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could avoid all his father’s associates on the way.

Luck must have been on his side, he mused, as he carefully avoided Covent Garden – he hadn’t encountered a single one of them. He ignored the usual noise of the city, though a few people busking on the streets did catch his attention, along with a man who seemed to be advertising a wax museum of sorts. He wondered what it was about for a moment or so before putting it behind him. They _did_ seem to be gaining traction and popularity these days, and the latest trends weren’t exactly what he had his mind on right now.

After a long chat with his friend (and his friend’s friend who was equally delightful to talk to, if a little grouchy at first) in Soho and a quiet dinner, he deemed it safe to return home without having to face anyone who called on him. He remembered days when he hadn’t needed to worry about all that was expected of him by high society. He could do without the airs and graces that were expected by anyone with a slightly high income or wealthy families. Which, of course, wasn’t to say that he would give up this opulent life – he quite liked his Mayfair house, well away from his family who lived halfway across the city. He’d have given his right arm to not have to be in their company at all, but he’d settle for this.

Writing had come to him as a solution and an excuse at a fairly young age. He _had_ served in the war, or one of them at least, and when he’d been discharged, he’d turned his life around and had become a playwright. He’d made a name for himself in artistic circles (even helping fund the repair and rebuilding of the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden), and was quite satisfied with his reputation and connections.

It was a pity he couldn’t cut off the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun historical facts:  
> The Royal Astronomical Society is an actual society and charity in London founded in 1820, and women were really allowed to be a part of it. I thought it was the perfect choice for Jane, since astrophysics wasn't quite a thing in the nineteenth century.  
> The Royal Opera House is now more commonly known simply as Covent Garden, and it was built in 1732. It burned down a couple of times and the building that exists today was built after the 1808 and 1856 fires, the third theatre on that site.


	5. Chapter 5

Thor was finding it rather hard to get people to visit his museum. It _was_ in a prominent place in London, so he knew that it was not for lack of coverage or accessibility. Jane seemed to have an idea about something that would help. She was, of course, unable to provide more than a few hints due to her suddenly busy schedule in the Astronomical Society, but Thor caught on rather easily. More life in the museum might have defeated its purpose, but at this point he’d have done anything he could to gather the funds.

Over the next few days, he managed to collect quite a few people. An inventor who could make anything out of scraps at an inhuman speed and happened to specialise in automation, a pair of ex-soldiers whose strength was immensely versatile (one of whom was an artist, and the other could ride spectacularly), an archer, a young lady who could throw knives rather wonderfully at any target (Thor wondered where exactly she’d picked up that skill), and others with various talents besides. Quite a few of their names matched his in terms of linguistic origin, and they all laughed at the name of his museum good-naturedly.

Of course, he’d made their position quite clear. Each of them was called for their abilities, onto a platform where they could display them. There was equal chance of being ridiculed or hailed by the public. Their subsequent assent warmed Thor’s heart. He’d even hired a manager, who swiftly became a close friend. Heimdall had advised him to spend what he needed on advertising, and Thor had taken his advice readily.

Thor threw out the pieces in the museum that they didn’t need, and let the others use the rest in whatever way they did. A few of them had some money to spare for costumes, which were hastily made and adjusted. Then came the big day; the opening night of the show. They’d advertised it all over town, sparing no expenses. Thor really hoped it would live up to what they’d promised. He had quite a bit to lose.

“Good evening, ladies and gents,” Thor exclaimed, hopping up to the centre of the stage, as had been scripted, “I have the honour of presenting the show of a lifetime…”

As he carried on with his opening monologue, he made sure to grab the attention of much of the audience around him. The crystal-topped cane and bright red ringmaster’s jacket helped substantially, and he used the refraction of light off his cane to his advantage.

“For our first performance,” Thor paused, building up suspense, “here comes the general!”

* * *

The show had gone _great_. Thor was reeling from the euphoria, the success that was _his show_ , and the others seemed to be feeling the same. The tickets had sold out, his manager – Heimdall – told him later, and there was enough to go around as salary. It was quite promising, he had observed. Thor clapped him on the shoulder and escorted him to the celebrating team.

Jane had watched the performances along with her friend Darcy, and both ladies seemed to have enjoyed the spectacle.

“Miss Lewis,” Thor greeted her as she joined the rest of them. She’d quickly befriended most of them, so they all greeted her with a grin and a wave.

“Mr. Odinson,” she parroted. “There’s someone upstairs, says he wants to talk to you. I think he’s a reporter.”

Thor nodded, and, after a quick word with the rest, left the party to speak to the reporter.

“Quite impressive, Mr. Odinson,” a deep voice intoned from the shadows.

“Thank you, sir,” he said politely. “And you are?”

“Ross.” Thor supposed that this must have been his last name. The man didn’t give his first. And yet, his name seemed familiar…

“From United News?” he asked doubtfully. The man nodded.

“It’s an honour, sir.” Thor tipped his hat, which had a silver trim – a nod to his old childhood dream of fancy accessories, which he had to admit he hadn’t outgrown.

“And yet, I can’t say the same.”

Thor frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Your show,” Ross said, as if it explained everything.

“Well, we do aim to show people the wonders of the world,” Thor began, but the reporter cut him off.

“Wonders? Is that what you call freaks being paraded for entertainment?” Ross paused. “Those are my boss’ words, not mine.”

“What, the part where you called my friends freaks?”

“Oh, is that how you treat your friends?” Ross retorted, former hesitation vanishing. “Putting them on display for everyone to gawk at? I hate to waste ink on this atrocity, but I have a duty to warn the public. And when I’m finished, I hope you will be finished as well.”

Thor could think of nothing to say to that little tirade.

* * *

“ _Insulting, degrading, and perhaps just shy of criminal, Thor Odinson’s show is singularly the most unpleasant evening I have spent in years, calling to mind the most primitive aspects of the Roman Circuses of yore.”_ Jane stopped reading, unable to continue. The article had started with a rather harsh critique of the performances, but the rest was simply a result of what appeared to be childish name-calling.

She sighed. “Thor, I’m so sorry.”

Thor was sitting in the armchair, looking rather contemplative. “No, actually, don’t be.”

“What? Why not? This review is just ridiculous!”

“It’s perfect marketing,” he said, meeting her gaze eagerly.

“He called you the _Prince of Humbug_ ,” she said flatly.

“Humbug is merely the time-honoured use of hyperbole to create entertainment and joy,” Thor insisted.

She raised a brow. “Humbug is a lie, dear.”

Thor shrugged. “Well, it’s already done, and I intend to make the most of it. I’m going up to Valkyrie and Heimdall, they’ll help me with my plans.”

“Oh, thanks,” she muttered.

“Not like that,” Thor started, and pouted at her giggle. “I’ll get you back for that,” he said.

Well, he could _try_.

* * *

_Prince of Humbug_. The phrase seemed to have etched itself onto his mind. The name seemed quite familiar as well, calling up a vague image of his command in the Army, though why exactly he couldn’t quite tell. Perhaps it was the similarity in the etymologies of their names, Odinson and Friggason. The paper was flipped closed expertly as Loki set it down on the bench next to him.

“’Scuse me, mister, but-”

“Yes, you can have the paper, I’m quite finished with it,” Loki interrupted, rising from his seat decisively. He wasn’t particularly in the mood to talk to anyone, and could only manage to be civil for the expected pleasantries before hastily making an exit.

“Thanks, laddie,” the man said gruffly, shuffling it open.

With a tip of his hat and a quick not-quite-grin, Loki strode away from his usual Berkeley Square haunt to his house. He decided to take a more winding route as he was not five minutes’ of a walk away from home, giving himself some time to get lost in his thoughts. Contrary to what others (who he had the displeasure of being acquainted with) believed, it was quite a pleasant activity to engage in. He hadn’t much else to do that day, surprisingly. Not a single call to make or return.

_Prince of Humbug_. Loki remembered seeing the extravagant advertising, and today, nearly every paper he’d seen had that review on the front page. It wasn’t exactly the strategy he would have gone for, but rather effective. By nightfall, most people in town, regardless of their intent to watch the show, knew of its existence. The banners and flyers were everywhere, promising _The Greatest Show on Earth_. It was rather amusing, Loki thought, because the place itself was called Asgard. Likely no one else would have noticed, but his very _name_ granted some level of knowledge in the myths.

He did remember a fellow soldier in camp with the same name, had seen him in passing a few times, but he’d never actually interacted with the man. It couldn’t have been a coincidence, because _Thor Odinson_ wasn’t the sort of everyday name one would expect, like _William_ or _James_ or the ever-present _John Smith_. It was the sort of name that was just about as common as _Loki Friggason_ , the sort that no one believed was a family name because it was simply too convenient a surname to be true.

No, this _had_ to be the man he’d heard much of while in the training camps.

He barely noticed crossing the road, only returning to the present when a colourful pamphlet flew into his face. He snatched it out of the air moments before it could do so, acting on pure instinct. His reflexes weren’t all that bad, he reflected proudly. Then he took a closer look at the flyer, which was unsurprisingly a copy of the few hundreds of sheets that practically painted the city.

For a brief moment, he thought of going to one of those shows. Mr. and Mrs. Andrews had been to it last night, and they’d promised him that morning that it was indeed the spectacle. He clenched it tightly in his fist, gloved fingers tearing through the thin paper. He tossed it into a nearby wastebasket, pulled his hat low over his head and, shoving his hands into the large pockets of his coat, purposefully cut through the streets into his blissfully empty home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This very quickly became a 'spot-the reference' chapter, but I promise only one was intentional.  
> Our playwright is revealed with some backstory!  
> Hope you all enjoyed!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some more plot! The circus advances, is renamed, and a local playwright gets some more exposition that leads up to him running away and joining the circus.

The line for tickets to Asgard Museum (Thor intended on changing the already shortened name, since it wasn’t quite a _museum_ anymore) seemed to have tripled overnight. After consulting with the troupe and talking it through with Heimdall, he decided to host shows every other night, occasionally staggering the dates and raising prices. The demand for tickets never quite fell, rather wavering occasionally but picking up again when everyone needed it to.

Thor bought a house once he had saved up enough – one that was close enough to the Astronomical Society that now required much of Jane’s hours that would otherwise have been spent in the museum, while being well within reach of her father’s house as well. He’d been quite pleased with her success as well as Thor’s, if a bit sceptical about the whole affair at first. He refrained from discouraging him, though, and Thor respected this by not mentioning it much during their visits. The man was a bit on the cynical side, Thor knew from experience. He couldn’t blame him – Astronomy was still a field that others were more than obliged to judge, despite the level of mathematical and scientific finesse required. Perhaps that was it.

By now, the Museum had gained another name (courtesy of another scathing report by Ross), one that had attained quite a bit of popularity among the city’s inhabitants. The circus had a steady stream of visitors who wanted to attend the shows for various reasons – winding down after a long week, a promise to the family, someone who’d been in the area for the first time, another who came down just for this – and this continued for the next few years.

At this point, as the owner, Thor had earned enough to be considerably wealthy, though he made sure that he paid everyone under his employment well. The circus became a synonym of freedom, of equality, and of safety. The people who worked there called it their home, sometimes, though they had accommodations outside the arena. Anthony didn’t have to worry about people complaining about his automatons exploding anymore.

By now, they’d settled into a sort of routine, though they welcomed people into their ranks whenever the public demanded new acts. Occasionally, the script would change and they’d try something vaguely new to impress them. They made it to the papers a few more times, always under the scrutinising pen of Thaddeus Ross, and Thor always found a way to turn it into advertising. It was marvellous and, as Tony admitted to Thor over drinks one night, absolutely hilarious as it was vindicating.

Their newest members were two trapeze artists named Sif and Sigyn. Thor had watched them perform one routine and hired them on the spot. Heimdall had watched them later, meaning to evaluate them for their entry and solo in the show. They got to perform the opening act, much to everyone’s delight. The team appeared to be too excited as they worked extra hours to set up the rigging for the pair and make their costumes.

Their first show was a wonderful success, despite the backlash from SHIELD about the show’s new opening. The two women had been worried about the negative review before Natasha and Valkyrie assured them that it was the norm – it was one thing, though, to see those reviews in the paper and quite another to be the object of criticism in them. Their entrance into circus ranks had resulted in many memorable occasions, such as the time Thor tried to rename their act to _The Swing Sisters_ and Sif had thrown her shoe at him.

Fortunately for him, the name never quite caught on.

* * *

Sigyn was tossing large loops of ropes up over the railings, where conveniently placed loops and hooks would let them unravel as she practiced her routine. Her usual costume was off, the extravagant bodysuit replaced by a simple training suit. Her wrists and palms were bound with coarse linen, keeping them from being chafed by the ropes. The only light in the ring came from the open ceiling, the sun’s rays casting a sort of spotlight over her. The seats surrounding the ring were dark, shadowed enough to be nearly invisible. Perfect for ignoring any loiterers who might have snuck in (which, admittedly, had happened more times than any of them would have liked).

She methodically followed her routine of flips, swings, and other flourishes for another hour or so, barely aware of the passage of time until Sif called out for her to get off the ropes. By the time she had joined her friend, night had already fallen. The two of them had made plans that evening, both completely unrelated, to enjoy their free night (Thor didn’t work them too hard and gave them enough wages – and the scheduled performances gave them enough room to relax – but it had been a while since either of them had taken an evening off rather than practice).

She didn’t catch a carriage, rather steadily made her way to St. James’ Park, meaning to enjoy the slight breeze as she strolled by. She passed a number of groups of young men laughing raucously, couples with their hands looped together, slightly older couples who scowled at the men as they crossed them (and her, for walking alone), as well as several more unremarkable people besides. Luckily for her, her hat with its netting obscured her face from view, and her path took her away from the more crowded paths of central London.

Unfortunately, on her way back, a rather strong gust of wind blew it right off her head. She snatched at it in vain, but the wind carried it further away. She was unable to go back and look for it, seeing as she had reached one of those blasted crowded lanes she’d meant to avoid. Turning away, she silently mourned the loss of her favourite hat, when a light touch of her shoulder drew her attention. Under other circumstances, she might have ignored the touch, explaining it away as an accidental brush in a crowded street, or simply not responding to whichever stranger was calling for her. However, the smooth voice that spoke up then made it more or less impossible to ignore.

“Excuse me, but I believe this is your hat?” The voice turned questioning at the last word, as if doubting that the aforementioned hat was hers. Which was understandable, seeing as she didn’t recognise the voice herself.

Faced with no other choice, she turned to look at the man behind her, who was holding out a hat – her hat indeed, with its feather dangling precariously off the rim – and appeared to be waiting for a response.

“It is,” she said, taking it from him. “Thank you, sir.”

“Oh, it was no problem really,” he said, slightly awkward in the manner of someone not knowing how to continue a conversation.

“Charming weather, isn’t it?” he added, and Sigyn was amused at the way he’d switched to the standard lines of complaining about the weather.

“Lovely for a walk,” she said politely. That much was true.

“It is,” he agreed. “Do you walk often, Miss…”

“Ainsworth,” she said, feeling a bit like Elizabeth Bennet in the moment, pinned by Mr. Darcy’s questions at Pemberley. She disregarded the notion – it was ridiculous, after all. This man was no Mr. Darcy, he was a complete stranger. “And you are?”

He hesitated, and she thought for a moment that he looked awfully familiar, despite not meeting him before. She fixed her hat over her carefully styled hair which had blown aside in the wind, ensuring that it wouldn’t fall off again. Perhaps she could invest in a hatpin.

“Frost,” he said finally. She nodded, though she wasn’t sure she believed him.

“Well, Mr. Frost, to answer your query, I _do_ walk often. Just not along this route.”

He nodded. “Of course. Very well, then, it was lovely meeting you, but I must be on my way.” She thought he looked rather irritated at that, and wondered what he’d be doing at this time that involved such implied unpleasantness.

“It was nice to meet you too, sir,” she said politely, thanking him once more for the hat. He waved off her thanks with a laugh and they both separated ways again.

She smiled as she hopped over an uneven patch on the sidewalk. Elsewhere, a clock chimed, signalling the end of her self-imposed curfew. She drove away thoughts of polite, green-eyed strangers and focused on going home without tripping over her skirts.

* * *

Loki pushed open the doors of the greenroom and immediately made a beeline for the couch. The Grandmaster (no one knew his real name, and the man didn’t seem to mind) wanted to speak to him and he found himself wondering if the only way he would be able to get through the talk was with a few glasses of alcohol. The old actor-manager would advise him against it, he knew. The man could move the entire world to his whim if he wanted, thanks to his gratuitous amount of connections. Instead of doing so, Loki threw himself face-first onto the couch, not caring how undignified he looked in the moment. He heard someone clear their throat softly but didn’t bother to move.

“That bad, hm?”

Loki sat bolt upright, upsetting one of the cushions. It tumbled to the floor.

“I do apologise,” he started, but the Grandmaster waved it aside, his American accent sharpening with his tone.

“It’s fine. If I had to deal with _that_ lot, I imagine I’d be the same.” The man pulled up a chair from behind the door that Loki had kept for this very purpose. Well, he hadn’t expected a visit from the person who practically ran the entire hall, but he’d kept it in case anyone came by for a discussion (or a drink) and needed an extra seat.

“I trust your play is well under production?”

“Yes,” he said, brightening – as much as he disliked the company (or some of them at least), he truly was proud of his work. “We’re halfway through, Mr. Tyler is doing a remarkable job. Everything should go according to schedule.”

The Grandmaster nodded. “That’s good, that’s very good.” He paused, seeming to consider how to ask the next question. “I’m not entirely sure what’s going on,” he said, “but you don’t seem to be holding up as well as you normally do.”

A protest was ready on the tip of his tongue, but a look from his manager was enough to quell it.

“I’m putting forth an offer for you, and you’re free to accept or decline. I know I can’t make you do anything, but just… take some time to consider this.”

Loki waited. His boss was a bit eccentric, not the least with his flashy wardrobe, but he usually had a point to things. He was also _very_ intuitive on what the public would like, so Loki usually ran his ideas by him before starting on a script. So, despite how everyone else avoided the Grandmaster, Loki sought out his opinion for the matter of the play. He had binned a few ideas he would have liked to write, and filed away the rest for when he was lost for inspiration, but he knew that the manager was right for the most part (the one time he hadn’t been had led to a _very_ interesting turn of events).

“I think,” the Grandmaster said carefully, “that you should quit after this season.”

“ _What_?” What sort of an offer was _that?_

“Not permanently!” he hastened to assure Loki, raising his hands in a placating motion. “Just for a little while. Take a break, an extended one. If you’d like, you could still write the plays and deliver them incognito. However you like.”

Loki was unmoved. While he wrote for the thrill of the craft, he very much treasured the recognition that came with it. “I’m perfectly capable of continuing-”

“I’m not firing you, nor am I asking you to resign. I’m advising you to take a break.”

“But-”

“Like I said before,” the man ploughed on, ignoring his protests, “I can’t _make_ you do anything. But I do ask you to consider this.”

And with that, he left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was not my intention to include the Grandmaster, he just sort of happened in this chapter.  
> Hope you all enjoyed!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Apologies for the late update, I had to rewrite a major chunk of this story because my original draft didn't seem to fit so well. I'm back to my weekly schedule now, with this story!
> 
> And now, for the independent sublplot to hop over to _the other side!_

The end of the play’s season was heralded by biting winds and the need for Loki to shift to his beloved winter coats. He barely felt the cold, and had to admit that he really liked watching the snowfall. He’d taken the old actor-manager’s advice and handed in his resignation for the time being (and had been sufficiently booed at by the company he was so glad to have an excuse to avoid). The Grandmaster had assured him that a place would always be available for him as a writer, should he ever wish to return.

Loki had thought hard and long about it, and decided that that could be a choice to make in the future. Tonight was the last show, and he intended to head down to Soho to the small winery his friend had introduced him to, once he’d learned of his taste for vintage drinks. He might have sent someone down to buy it any other time, but in light of his recent unemployment (he wasn’t fooling himself or anyone else in calling it a break) the best thing for him would be to go downtown himself. He tipped his hat low against the breeze, hands in his pockets, and found himself circling back to the theatre, staring up at the stairs.

A warm touch at his shoulder had him turning to face a blond, well-built man, who was also glancing up at the steps.

“You wouldn’t happen to be Mr. Friggason, would you?” he asked in a friendly baritone. “You produced tonight’s play.”

“I _wrote_ the play,” Loki corrected automatically, not quite a believer in false modesty. He was more of the opinion that any accomplishment that one was proud of deserved to be bragged about, at least a little bit. The man ducked his head in lieu of apology, and acknowledgement.

“Ah.” A pause. The warmth disappeared from his shoulder, and the man extended his hand for Loki to shake. “Thor Odinson.”

Loki tilted his head, now much more interested. “You run the show around the corner, don’t you? _Asgard Circus_.”

Mr. Odinson nodded. “I do. I was hoping to speak to you about that, actually, though I found you quite by accident.”

Loki nodded, though he couldn’t fathom what the showman wanted to speak to him, a playwright, about. Well, he could guess. “I was heading up to Soho, actually. There’s a nice bar there, with private parlours, should you want to avoid being overheard.” A beat, then: “I believe what you wish to discuss won’t be meant for public ears?”

“You are correct,” Mr. Odinson said seriously.

Loki sighed, sensing that this would take time and calling for a carriage. “I suppose it might be worthwhile to get out of the cold, then.”

* * *

A quarter of an hour later, the two of them were seated opposite each other, sipping their respective drinks. Mr. Odinson, for now, was just appreciating the flavour, but Loki was not known for his patience. He downed the rest of his drink and got straight to the point.

“I am quite curious to know why you would want a private conversation with me, Mr. Odinson. I’d say you approached me because you have a request or proposition to make of me.” He frowned. “I’m not taking commissions now,” he added.

The showman set down his glass, flagging the bartender down for a refill. “I would have assumed that someone as established as yourself would have lines of people wanting to speak to you,” he said mildly. “Nevertheless, you’re correct again, I _do_ have something to ask of you. A business offer, if you will. _Not_ a commission.”

“What sort of offer would this be, then?”

Thor leaned back. “I understand how this will sound,” he began, “but I wanted to ask you to join me in the circus.”

Loki didn’t say anything, merely raising a brow. It was, and he knew that Thor knew it, an invitation to continue. His lack of assent to this ridiculous request didn’t seem to deter the other man, though.

“Pardon me if I overstep,” Thor said, “but you don’t seem to be entirely content with your current position. I was merely suggesting-”

“I am _perfectly_ satisfied right now, Mr. Odinson-”

“I’m afraid I don’t entirely believe that. There are few reasons for a man to go into a bar alone, and I doubt any of them would be because he is _content_.”

Loki couldn’t fault his reasoning there, though he resented that this man he’d never met was trying to get to the root of his decisions. “And if I am? I cannot simply run away and join the circus.”

Thor shrugged. “It would be an escape. You’re in a – a cage, and I am handing over the key to you, free of cost.”

Loki snorted. “Your analogy isn’t quite correct, sir, for I am in no cage – metaphorical or otherwise – and I certainly do not need a key when I’m out in the open.”

“I believe that the fact that you haven’t walked out by now is proof enough,” Thor said shrewdly. “You don’t seem like the person who would bother arguing with a stranger about their personal life without reason, and I think you’re only still here because you want to hear me out.”

Loki bit back a few choice curse words. Fine, the circus seemed to be a place where people enjoyed themselves far more than those who watched his plays. The last year had not ushered in the best of audiences, and he had been running on sheer will power to carry the production. Hiring that new director was the best thing he had done.

“Consider this,” he said, instead of acknowledging the man’s rather apt observation, “if I continued in my path, I could live my very comfortable and luxurious life the way I like it. Perhaps, one day, after establishing myself firmly into history as a great enough playwright, I could meet Madame Vestris. My name would be in history books.”

Thor acknowledged this with a small nod. “If you joined me, you could live a life of adventure. The circus is memorable enough to reach the history books, sir, and you have just as much of an opportunity to meet Madame Vestris with us as you have with your company.”

“I rather like my life as it is, without the need for _adventure_. I would like it a lot better if you hadn’t stolen my crowds, but, alas, those things cannot be helped. I also believe I am part of a _company_ , as you so delightfully pointed out.”

“You have built walls around yourself, Mr. Friggason,” Thor said seriously, “and I think you should not have to. This might be a well enough opportunity for you to let them down. Transport you to a world of your own making. You write plays, you must know the appeal of another world where the laws are entirely different from ours and all the better for it. You would be completely free to dream.”

Damn. “I really do get to see the worlds of my making, Mr. Odinson. As you mentioned, I _am_ a playwright. I happen to watch my worlds come to life onstage already.”

Thor tilted his head. “Those were not the only worlds I spoke of, Mr. Friggason, and I think you know that. The circus is a place of art, much like your stage. We simply have different performances than your plays. It’s all a magic of its own, with far more freedom to do what we like. I know enough about theatre to know that it can be restrictive sometimes. The circus, though… we welcome new stories with open arms. That’s what gives it _life._ ”

Loki sighed. Thor seemed to be hitting all the nails right on the head, with what Loki assumed must have been a rather large hammer, or perhaps an anvil. All he knew was that he was so very _tired_ right now. He wondered why he was even thinking about turning down the rather promising offer he’d just got.

“Let’s assume I’m interested,” he said, registering how Thor’s eyes lit up in satisfaction, “how much would I be paid?”

The man frowned. “I must admit, I hadn’t considered that. Perhaps seven percent of the show’s total earnings?”

“Ha!” Loki scoffed and tossed back his chair, standing up. “I wasn’t born this morning, Mr. Odinson, and I won’t settle for anything less than eighteen.”

“That’s daylight robbery,” Thor protested.

“Fifteen,” Loki suggested, shrugging, and Thor shook his head immediately.

“I won’t offer anything more than eight percent of the earnings.”

Fair enough, Loki supposed. This would be a hard bargain.

“Twelve.”

“Maybe nine,” Thor said, and Loki played his trump card.

“Ten.” He held out a hand. This would be his final offer, and Thor knew it. It was also a reasonable share to ask, so there was no excuse he could give to turn it down. It was up to the showman now, and how in need he was for Loki to be in his employ. Thor sighed and shook. “I trust you will sign a proper contract later?” he asked with a smirk. “I would loathe for the lack of proof of our agreement.”

“Sure,” the showman grumbled.

Loki laughed, suddenly much lighter and excited about what the near future had in store for him. “Well, Mr. Odinson,” he said, pulling on his coat and scarf, “you have yourself a business partner.”

“Oh, no,” Thor said, donning his hat and frowning when he couldn’t find the change for the drinks, “what I _do_ have is an overcompensated apprentice.”

Loki snickered, counting out and sliding the amount (and a rather hefty tip) onto the counter. “I shall look forward to our meetings, Mr. Odinson,” he said. “Should they be as interesting as this one.”

“I think I can promise that,” Thor said, the beginnings of a smirk transforming the good-natured smile he’d been wearing moments ago into something more impish. Loki could appreciate a healthy dose of mischief in everyone, it was what kept things entertaining. He grabbed the bottle of wine he’d ordered and turned back at the door.

“I bid thee farewell, then,” Loki said with a dramatic bow, figuring that he could not possibly go overboard with his histrionics when he’d just accepted the offer of joining the circus. As the door shut behind him, Thor’s chuckles promised much the same, and he thought that he might just not regret this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, I couldn't make Thor and Loki actual brothers like in the movies because of their respective roles in this au, but they have this amazing bromance going on. As with all my other stories featuring these two, there will be absolutely no romance between them, but they do go from business partners to bickering siblings in the span of a chapter and a half.
> 
> Obligatory history note: Lucia Elizabeth Vestris was an actual famous actress (and an opera singer) at the time - she went by Madame Vestris for the most part of her career (1815-1854), and appeared in productions of Mozart and Rossini's works. What really got me when I was researching her career was that she was a contralto (or alto) singer with a lower voice (like me, ha!) and also produced some of James Planché's plays in the theatres she managed. It would have been quite the dream for an avid playwright like Loki to meet her and have her perhaps star in his plays.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this, I'll see you in Chapter 8!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is roughly 80% historical world (and character) building and 20% setting a rough time frame for when the story occurs - right now, it's the early 1840s.
> 
> Small warning for allusions to racism. The nineteenth century was a mess.

It took a while for Loki to get adjusted to his new job. Thor had given him free reign over directing the show, and he’d used his years of expertise to shape up the already well-defined program into a proper set of routines. He was impressed by the order with which the performances were held. He’d heard whispers and rumours of the circus being a lawless place, of chaos and complete disarray. The chaos, Loki was pleased to find, was structured enough to be satisfying and entertaining. In his first week at the job, he’d spoken to each of the performers, watched their acts at least once, and drawn up three ways of ordering them in a crowd-pleasing fashion.

The most interesting meeting, he thought, was the one he’d had with Sigyn and Sif. Sigyn had originally meant to speak with him alone, before being joined by her friend, and in the few minutes they’d had alone to converse, she’d teased him mercilessly about his awkwardness when he’d returned her hat. Now, a few months after Loki had settled into the rhythm of the circus, they were on the rooftop of the circus, watching the sun dip below the horizon (or, what was visible of it over the fog) and the gaslights in the streets flickering as they were lit.

“What I still don’t understand,” she was saying, “was why you did not introduce yourself by your real name when we met that day.”

Loki shrugged. “It is rather unique and fairly well-known. I did not want to seem like I was…” he sighed. “Things do not usually end well when I give people my true name outside the theatre or dinner parties.”

“Ah,” Sigyn said. “I can understand why you would want some level of anonymity in public. You _do_ go for solitary walks across London,” she added, seeing his inquisitive look. “You would need some discretion to go unnoticed.”

“The streets of London are adequate cover,” he replied. “One would sooner choke on the smoke than recognise an acquaintance before they reached the gaslight.”

“Although, I have no sympathy for your position.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he said mildly. “I won’t complain about a massive inheritance – that would be pointless. It infuriates me to no end when one sees people struggling on the streets while we dine in fine silks and whine about not getting whatever luxury catches our attention for the week.”

Sigyn nodded. “It is rather nice to see a wealthy man so self-aware. I’ll admit, when Thor told us that you would be joining our ranks, not many of us were too pleased.”

“I’m not surprised. This is a safe space for all of you, where you can be free to express yourself without the judgement of what society has proclaimed the _upper class_. As if wealth could ever be a true indicator of quality.”

“Well, they seem to like you enough, oh lord of the bourgeoisie,” she said with a quick grin. “Valkyrie didn’t seem to want to impale you with one of her daggers, and that’s about as good a sign of acceptance as it gets. Mind you, that could change any time.”

“I am well aware,” he said. “I know her, actually, from before the circus began. She taught me how to use them – the daggers – right after I was discharged from the army.”

“Oh?” Sigyn sounded intrigued. “And however did _that_ happen? The meeting, not… being discharged. Though if you wouldn’t mind, I think I should like to know how…”

Loki nodded when she trailed off. “It must have been, oh, six months since I returned. That was when I started walking around town, but it was before I moved into Mayfair. On one such walk, I ran into her throwing five knives – and those were bread knives, by the way – into a target she’d made in a tree trunk.”

Sigyn whistled. “Did they all hit the centre?”

“Obviously,” Loki said. “One wouldn’t expect anything less from her.”

Sigyn hummed. “What did you do then?”

“Well, once I found myself able to move instead of staring transfixed at her and ask her where she learned to throw knives like that, and nearly had my head cut off by the spare knife she’d had – which was a good half metre long, by the way, a sword if I ever saw one – she offered to teach me. Apparently I had good potential, and I needed to spend my restless energy somehow.” He shrugged. “Which, given that I was just back from an overseas skirmish, was not entirely wrong.”

“I would assume that one would be quite on edge after being in the army,” she said thoughtfully, lips quirking up at his use of _skirmish_ for the fighting he must have been involved in. “It can’t have been a vacation.”

He snorted. “Hardly.”

“When you speak of the army… I –” she sighed. “I’m going to ask you something that no doubt will sound offensive, but isn’t actually.”

He tilted his head, curious. “Ask away,” he invited.

“You say you served for the army. I – I’m not ignorant of what is happening overseas, of all the things they do in the East. How could you voluntarily sign up in a show of support for such heinous things?”

“Not offensive at all,” Loki commented, fishing for time. The lady wasn’t wrong to ask him this, he had wondered why he’d signed up rather often since he’d returned. He could try to give her an honest answer, though he wasn’t sure where he stood on the subject. “Please know that when I say this, I am not trying to excuse what I did, or what the army is currently doing. I’ve asked myself that question several times, and this is as honest an answer as I can give you.”

She nodded.

“For want of some background, I must explain: one doesn’t get drafted into the Army. You sign up for it of your own accord. For a while now, it has carried some level of recognition among wealthy families – being a soldier, or having direct family who were part of the army, is seen as a high honour. I signed up, but not for the reasons you would think – fame and wealth were far from what I wanted, as well as the shallow concept of _honour_. At the time, I barely knew how the people in the East were being treated.”

“And if you had?”

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “I still might have gone. Either way, I spent most of the decade training and fighting. _But_ ,” he added, “there was less tension among the native men and British officers before I left. We spoke their language, went hunting with them. They weren’t treated as equals – a pity – but they were given far more respect than they seem to be now.”

He sighed. “This isn’t a simple case where morality is black and white. Englishmen are out there doing terrible things to others, we have been for a long while now and I don’t see it stopping anytime soon. Would I rather it did, that everyone was left alone to their devices instead of being colonised and lorded over by people who originally wanted to trade with them? Absolutely. However, I couldn’t simply leave, even if I wanted to. That would have been an entirely useless act – I’d only have been charged and hanged for desertion. I thought, perhaps I’d be discharged some other way or I’d serve my full term. And I did.

“I don’t stand for what they’re doing there, and here. I think society is flawed and prejudiced. It’s in dire need for some change, and I think this show here might just be it.” He decided not to mention the exact circumstances that had led to his honorary discharge.

Sigyn hadn’t interrupted him once during his rant, but she spoke up now. “Was that why you became a playwright? Perhaps, the people might be influenced by the stories you wrote that they watched?”

He rubbed his neck. “Actually, I just wanted a way to express myself. I’ve always been fond of the arts, and writing just… came to me. Although,” he added, “I _have_ written tales that could potentially influence my audiences. It is particularly gratifying to write a political piece, but far less so to be rejected and told that it’s not what the audience wants.”

Sigyn hummed. “I haven’t ever been to a play,” she commented. “Though I would love to watch one.”

“At the risk of sounding offensive or ignorant,” Loki began softly, for this was clearly a sensitive topic he was intensely curious about, “Why didn’t you?”

She shrugged. “At first, I could not afford the tickets. After that, I was barred from entering some theatres. Now, I’m far too busy – though I do love performing at the circus,” she added hastily.

Loki gazed thoughtfully at her. He had to admit, he was, while not unaware, far from knowledgeable on the levels of discrimination she must face on a daily basis. He found himself admiring her optimism all the more for realising this. He had read the reviews of the shows, had been since the opening night of the circus, and they had often been bordering on hostile. He, Heimdall and Thor had often had to drive away gangs of young men who loitered around long after closing hours, taunting them about how ‘those freaks shouldn’t be allowed in public, let alone perform’.

They hadn’t mentioned it to the rest, knowing how it would anger them. While Loki could attest to an even temper, he had, more often than he liked, come close to throwing punches with the gangs over some of the insults they’d flung at the (fortunately absent) performers.

There had been one occasion where he’d nearly pulled a dagger (which he’d stolen from Valkyrie, not that he’d tell her) at them, and Thor had spotted the tell-tale glint of metal before hauling him inside and harshly telling him to leave it be. Though it was usually the other way around, with _him_ being the one stopping Thor from chucking his trusty wooden hammer (which Jane and Loki had unofficially christened Mjolnir, much to Heimdall’s amusement when he’d first heard) at them all.

“I see,” was all he said. There was nothing else he could do, after all.

Not yet, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory history note: Most of the allusions here are related to the colonisation of India, especially the paragraph where Loki mentions how British officers were mostly cordial if prejudiced re: Indian soldiers. Things started to change in roughly the 1850s, and all of it resulted in the struggles for independence henceforth. The mentions of all the smog are, of course, because we're nearing the height of the Industrial Revolution.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I've finally completed the entire story (yay!) and all that's left is to edit the chapters as I post them, so now I'm changing my update schedule to twice a week instead of once.

It had been roughly a decade since Thor had started the circus, and Jane was so proud of her husband for all the progress he’d made with it. She had long since become an esteemed member of the RAS, much to the chagrin of the men who worked there, but she loved her job and was exceptional at it. She wasn’t one for false modesty, and was perfectly willing to take the credit for designing some of the instruments they used to analyse the readings they gained. When the circus generated enough for her to afford much of the material that was used to make them, she decided to take things into her own hands and fashion the rejected instruments herself.

The people who worked at Asgard supported her and often lent her a hand if she needed one with the engineering process (Anthony Stark), and didn’t hesitate to run down to the docks and buy her some more tools or materials when she ran out of them (Loki Friggason). The best of them, though, were Sigyn, Sif and Valkyrie, who usually came by the manor whenever they found time to chat with her. Sigyn and Jane would spend evenings relaxing by the fire, embroidering a handkerchief, talking about the books, while she and Sif usually drank tea in companionable silence. Valkyrie was fascinated to know about how upper-class women were raised, so they would exchange accounts of their childhood. A common topic was the lack of formality around the circus and how they could call each other by their first names without having others gasp at their impropriety.

Occasionally, they’d all meet on the rooftop of either the manor or the circus, and talk away the night. Even rarer were the nights Darcy could join them, and then they’d all have twice as much fun as usual. Jane enjoyed all those times, and was only ever regretful that Darcy couldn’t join them more regularly.

“You’d think men would respect us more, given that we have a queen ruling the country,” Darcy commented one night, reclining against the length of the couch. The bright fabric of her skirts draped over onto the floor, practically shimmering in the light. “We’ve been great for as long as we’ve existed, of course, but it’s the thought that counts.”

Valkyrie snorted. “That didn’t happen all those other times women were rulers,” she said. “I don’t see them coming to their senses anytime soon.”

Sif shrugged. “We are all better off in the circus. The men here think more highly of us than all the rest in England.”

Sigyn laughed, but didn’t dispute her point. “It’s far more liberating,” she commented. “There aren’t any prejudices in Asgard, we’re all simply artists displaying our talents.”

“Speak for yourself,” Valkyrie said. “ _We’re_ prejudiced against the upper class.”

Everyone laughed, though Jane and Darcy looked pensive for a moment or so. Sigyn noticed their discomfort and laid a hand on Jane’s arm. “Valkyrie exaggerates,” she said softly, under the noise of the conversation in the background. “It’s not the _people_ we dislike individually, rather the collective biases the group has to offer to the working classes.”

“Scornful looks and the genuine impression that they’d rather be sitting on a pile of dirt than talking to you,” Valkyrie muttered, downing her glass.

Darcy smiled gratefully. “I can’t say I understand, because we come from very different worlds, but I _have_ seen it in action among my schoolmates. Though I must admit, I _was_ slightly worried.”

Sigyn shook her head, strands of her hair slipping free from the loose knot that held them back. “You have no reason to be, really. It’s the snobby ones we don’t care for,” Sigyn added.

Darcy sighed. “I don’t care much for them either,” she complained, “though I associate with them regularly enough.”

Sigyn grimaced sympathetically. “You can always run down to Asgard if you like,” she invited. “We’d be glad to have you there. Mr. Friggason would enjoy your company and insight on how to partake in these apparently dreary soirées, I’m sure.”

“As much as I’d like that, those people are unfortunately my classmates and would tattle if I missed any parties.”

Sigyn squeezed her forearm and leaned back. “Good luck, then,” she said.

Darcy snorted. “Thanks, I’ll need that if I want to get through the year without strangling them with a hat ribbon. Besides, I think Mr. Friggason would much more appreciate _your_ company than mine.”

Sigyn frowned as everyone coughed or giggled and turned the conversation away. What on Earth could _that_ mean?

* * *

“ _The master of the Household, has it in command of the Queen… to invite Mr. Thor Odinson and his theatrical troop to a reception at Buckingham Palace._ ”

Thor snatched the card out of Loki’s hand. “The Queen – Loki, is this real?”

“I have a hard time believing it too,” Loki said dryly. “It can’t possibly because of your charm, for it is non-existent. No, when I found out that she was considering it, I pulled a few strings.”

Thor looked impressed. “Are we all invited?”

Loki shrugged. “I suppose so. I could reply saying that all of us go or none.”

Thor nodded absently, and only then registered what he said. “Loki, this is the _Queen of England_ we speak of!”

“Yes, and I’ll tell her, kindly and respectfully, that we either accept her invitation as a whole – note that it says _and theatrical troupe_ , which doesn’t just mean me – or we must decline.”

Thor shook his head in disbelief. “Do you know who will be there?”

Loki took back the invitation and tucked it into his waistcoat pocket securely. “Not particularly. The Grandmaster said to expect a few familiar faces, but that could mean anything directed at me.”

Thor remembered suddenly that Loki really was well-connected among the wealthy classes. It was rather easy to forget it when he saw his friend in the circus, shirtsleeves rolled up, calling directions to everyone carefully, mostly keeping the acts themselves unchanged but adding flairs to please the audience every so often to avoid stagnation. Thor had, after managing to nag the playwright into having dinner with him and Jane, asked him why he made such changes so regularly. The response he’d gotten had been far more sobering than he’d expected.

“The audience is fickle, and will turn on you the instant they find a fault in these shows. Seeing as the circus mainly deals with spontaneity and eye-catching spectacles over scripted plays, it would be a disaster to keep it the same every night,” Loki had said. Thor had gone on to ask him why he thought so, and he’d smiled bitterly.

“I’ve scrapped plenty of material because the audience wouldn’t like it, and seen some that I didn’t turn into far worse than a badly-performed show could ever be.”

“There had to be some people who liked those plays, though,” Thor had tried.

Loki had just sighed. “What few that did smothered their voices at the behest of the rest of the public. Aristocrats are a mess,” he’d added finally. “It’s so much more fun to put up a show for the working classes.”

Thor hadn’t disagreed.

As it was, such moments were the only times he really remembered Loki’s background (or, as the man liked to call it, his _semi-tragic backstory_ ). Thor supposed that it wasn’t about _forgetting_ , more so that it could only be picked up through ambient cues such as the tell-tale sheen of silk shirts (as opposed to cheaper, mixed cotton that Thor had seen everywhere since his childhood) and offhanded, casual mentions of his lifestyle. Thor appreciated that he never lorded his wealth over them – that wouldn’t have gone well with _any_ of the others – but was more curious about his life before he’d joined the army and after he’d been discharged.

The aforementioned backstory was still locked up tightly and shoved into a corner of his identity where no one would think to look, and Thor didn’t really want to push his friend away by asking. That being said, he was incredibly curious and knew that Loki could tell. Although, right now, what questions he had in mind were mostly harmless, so he didn’t hold back from asking.

“I’ve heard much about the Grandmaster,” he began carefully.

Loki smirked. “You wonder why I associate with a man as eccentric as he,” he guessed. “Several people have asked me that question, though none as regularly as my parents - albeit for other reasons.”

Thor waited.

“What people know about him usually tends to be either a false rumour or one that’s been mangled beyond any semblance of truth it might have held. He’s very well connected, and excellent at showrunning. I think most of the unpleasantness comes from his family. They lived in the States and owned slaves,” he concluded distastefully. Thor wrinkled his nose. While the practice was rarer than it used to be, he detested seeing instances of it anywhere.

“He gave you advice on which plays would please the audience?”

Loki nodded. “That, and he was the only one who noticed how toxic the company was for me. It’s rare that you end up with such a crowd,” he said, frowning. “Almost non-existent.”

“The keyword being almost.”

“Yes, exactly. I’m the almost.”

Thor knew that his friend still wrote, because he saw either the evidence on his ink-stained shirtsleeves or the act itself, in the sidelines of the arena. Thor leaned back into his armchair with a grin, and listened silently as Loki told him about the latest showing of Henry VIII that almost set the stage on fire – “ _again_ , you’d think they learned from the time the same play was the reason the Globe burned down-”, thinking that starting the circus had to have been the best decision he’d made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The RAS, of course, is the [Royal Astronomical Society](https://ras.ac.uk/), which exists even today.  
> I didn't want to erase the fact that the Grandmaster was a slaver on Sakaar, but I had no idea how to even approach the subject before I got this idea. Also, I genuinely couldn't imagine him with a British accent, so it was the perfect excuse for me to say that he originally lived in America.  
> I very nearly included a Little Women reference in this chapter before remembering that the book was published in 1868, which is a good ten years in the future (of this chapter).
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it!


	10. Chapter 10

“You know, Asgard has made the front page quite a bit, but this is probably the first time we’ve taken precedence over news about the Army,” Loki said to Thor one morning, sliding over the paper. Thor shook it open and stared at the title.

“There was a revolt in India?”

“Yes, and apparently our attendance with the Queen is more important than an attempt by a colonised country to free themselves from us.”

Thor frowned over the sheets. “You were a soldier, though,” he pointed out.

“So were you. That doesn’t mean I agree with principles of oppression and exploitation,” Loki retorted. “I might be the only British man to think so, but I think this soldiers’ revolt might just be the start of something revolutionary.”

“You’re not,” Thor said, skimming through the article.

“Not what?”

“What? Oh, you’re not the only one who thinks so.”

Loki grinned. “It’s an expression, brother.” He tapped the paper lightly and raised a brow. “For something that seems to be reported as a mere skirmish, this seems to be remarkably planned, wouldn’t you say?”

Thor hummed an affirmative. The report, as was to be expected, was heavily biased. Despite how much they tried to downplay the effects of the mutiny, it was evident that the soldiers had coordinated their actions across several postings. To Thor, who had taken charge of tactics during his time in the British Army, it was an impressive strategy.

“If this turns out to be the same as what happened with America, though,” Thor began, and Loki laughed.

“On the contrary,” the playwright said, switching abruptly to a more serious note, “I believe it has the power to become something entirely different from what we’ve seen before. A struggle, to be sure, but I can’t put my finger on why I think…”

Thor nodded in understanding when Loki trailed off and skimmed the article about their impending attendance with the Queen. It outlined exactly when they’d be meeting with her, and named other troupes which would also be part of the audience. Thor stopped at a vaguely familiar name. “Loki, didn’t you write for a company in Covent Garden?”

“I did, yes,” he said with a shrug. “Why do you ask?”

Thor frowned. “Did you even read the article?”

“When you are here to provide the highlights, dear brother, why on Earth would I?” Loki countered. “I read what I thought was important and skipped the trivial sections.”

Thor sighed. The man was incorrigible, and it was entirely possible that Loki had skipped the report about the attendance with the Queen of England since his attention had been caught by the news of the revolt. Thor had to admit, Loki was far more invested in politics than he was.

“They are to meet with the Queen with us, on the same day.”

“Are they now? That’s marvellous; perhaps I’ll have a stroke of luck and meet Sarah Siddons as well after my passing.” Loki fell back against the couch dramatically, throwing an arm across his eyes. Thor held back a snort, curious about why exactly he had that sort of reaction to an otherwise rather pleasant career involved with something he was passionate about.

So, he decided to risk it for once and ask his best friend exactly that.

Loki lifted the arm off his eyes and sighed. “I’m afraid it’s rather complicated and messy,” he said vaguely. “To say nothing of how overworked I was the last season I was with them.”

“Aside from that, I meant,” Thor added belatedly. It was true – the first year Loki worked with Asgard, Thor had indirectly made sure that he rested enough (excluding those times he burned the midnight oil when he was particularly inspired). Eventually, he observed an increase in a general air of mischief his friend exuded, which was the reason he sometimes had Loki host shows instead of himself – when more children attended, especially, Thor found that they had a more positive response with Loki as the ringmaster. And yet he’d barely spoken of his own experiences in playwriting when he readily parted with valuable information about other performances and ideas for the circus.

“As I said,” Loki repeated pointedly, “it was an incredibly messy affair which I would rather forget soon. The short version, which is the _only_ version you’ll ever hear from me, is that they did everything in their power to make it known that I’d never belong.”

Thor nodded and flipped to the next page of the newspaper. The rest of the morning was spent in silence.

* * *

After a rather lengthy introduction with the Queen, which Sigyn found to be rather excessive, the members of Asgard were set free to mingle with the rest of high society. A few of them seemed not to mind interacting with them, such as the Lords Three (as she’d dubbed the trio of nobles), who had swiftly taken a shine to Sif and Thor. Sigyn stayed close to the walls of the area, feeling out of place at a party like this. She found an entrance to a balcony and slipped into it, relieved at finally finding some space.

“I see you’ve also decided to take refuge in here, my lady,” observed a soft, pleasant voice from against the rail. Sigyn wasn’t particularly surprised to see Loki there, all sharp angles haloed by the dim glow of the setting sun. He was only half-facing her, and she decided to join him.

“I saw you earlier, but I couldn’t tell you then – you look enchanting,” he said. “I doubted that yellow could suit anyone, but it complements your hair.”

“I suppose it depends on the shade as well,” she replied, dipping her head in silent thanks.

“Ah, that would be it.” A beat. “As much as I’m used to this sort of crowd, I doubt I will ever like these gatherings.”

“Yes, it is rather daunting,” Sigyn said. “I now see what you meant.”

Loki hummed. The distinct click of heels made them both turn, and Sigyn could see her friend stiffen out of the corner of her eye. A young noble in an impeccably tailored, if a bit hideous suit, stepped forward into the fading light – enough that Sigyn could vaguely make out his features. Angular and harsh, cruelty glittering in the twist of his mouth and dark eyes.

“Mr. Blackwood, good to see you again,” Loki said with blatantly false cheer.

“Mr. Silvertongue,” the man drawled, “A pleasure. I was saddened to not hear from you, after you left the Army.”

The hand at Loki’s side tightened into a fist. “I believe you are mistaken, for I was discharged.”

“Mrs. Duff will be pleased to know that you are doing well, if a bit… disappointed that you did not stay in touch.”

“I do apologise,” Loki began, but Mr. Blackwood interrupted him with a harsh laugh.

“Of course. I daresay I cannot blame you for chasing after lawlessness,” he commented airily, and Sigyn saw Loki’s hand clench more, nearly breaking through the skin. “After the presentation we all saw today, I must admit, it does seem to be your style.”

Loki stepped forward. “Quite,” he said icily, practically mowing the other man out of the way. He paused at the gate and turned back. “Miss Ainsworth, would you like to join me inside? I think it should just about be the time for a dance.”

Right on cue, Sigyn heard the quartet tuning their instruments and shuffling the sheets of music on their stands. She nodded and stepped past Mr. Blackwood, taking Loki’s hand. Surprised, his grip slackened and she slid her palm into his own, entwining her fingers with his as they made their way to the cleared dance floor.

“Is there normally dancing at a party like this?”

“Not usually. I suspect this was a last-minute addition, though I cannot say by whom.”

Sigyn hummed. “If I might ask, who _is_ Mr. Blackwood?”

Loki sighed. “I should have expected that he would be here. Maurus Blackwood is an influential man; he served with me in the Army, as well as two of his friends, whose names I simply cannot remember. We were all in the same regiment, though I happened to be the leader of the command.”

“Impressive, I’m sure,” Sigyn quipped, startling a laugh out of him. He twirled her once before continuing.

“For most of the time we were there, they fought me on practically every decision I made. Things were already tense – as they usually are – and the entire regiment wondered why I hadn’t done anything. Mind you,” he added on a downbeat, “I wondered much the same then, and still do quite often.”

Sigyn asked him, “Did this have anything to do with how you were discharged?”

“As a matter of fact, it was. It was because I was injured during a skirmish.” He glanced up around them, somewhat uneasy. “I’m not entirely certain that this is the best place to talk about it.”

Sigyn remembered that this was the _Queen’s_ party they were at, and agreed that perhaps this conversation was a bit inappropriate considering the setting. “Perhaps we can put this discussion behind us until it needs to be picked up again.”

Loki looked relieved. “Absolutely,” he said, and they danced the rest of the evening away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your weekly history note:  
> The Revolt of 1857 marked the starting of a series of movements that led to India's independence, beginning with the mutiny of soldiers (or sepoys) before expanding into various towns, which is what the first scene is partly about. I'd like to think that the circus and its diverse cast would have opened them up to a) a LOT of criticism from the cagey mindset of people at the time, and b) better acceptance of multiple viewpoints on different social situations of the time.  
> Sarah Siddons was the most famous tragedienne of the 18th century. She was dubbed 'tragedy personified' by critic William Hazlitt, and Loki mentions meeting her in the afterlife because she died a good decade and a half (1831) before this chapter.
> 
> Maurus Blackwood isn't an original character so much as a renamed and revised Ebony Maw. The name just seemed too unlikely in Victorian England, which is why Proxima Midnight is Lilith Duff. Proxima apparently has a husband in the Black Order, and that's Mr. Duff. I didn't look past the themed names so I'm not too sure about the spouse. As for Sigyn's name, it isn't really founded on anything more than what sounded nice with her first name.
> 
> I briefly thought about sending them to America (as opposed to Barnum travelling from USA to England) but settled with them meeting Queen Victoria anyway. As for the Jenny Lind subplot, that has been somewhat adapted and will absolutely play a part in the next chapters (albeit minus the romantic-undertones-but-not-really part in the movie).
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed!


	11. Chapter 11

The day after the party, Thor and Loki found themselves in Loki’s Mayfair residence. It was the first time Thor had been to his house, which was both strange and not – by nature, Loki disliked having to disclose anything personal, but Thor had happened to get to know more about the man he’d come to think of as a brother and had been truly surprised when he remembered that he had not once been to Loki’s house in the decade he’d known him.

The place was, as he had expected it would be, luxurious. It was, however, very unlike the houses of other lords and ladies who preferred to show off their opulence with extravagant furniture. Everything in Loki’s home was clearly of expensive make, but only so that it would be equally comfortable and perhaps a touch elegant. It was also less of a lair than Thor had envisioned in his mind. He was particularly taken by the study, which was lined with shelves of books. The desk, which filled the corner by the window, was by far the untidiest place in the entire house, scattered with loose sheets of paper, a fountain pen on top of an unused stack, and an inkwell that teetered dangerously close to the edge of the desk.

“Ah,” Loki said sheepishly, not even attempting to rearrange his wares into something more presentable. “I don’t normally expect guests,” he added.

“Is that because you don’t invite any?” Thor asked mildly. The playwright’s tolerance for company was elastic at best, growing steadily more mercurial the more engrossed he became with a project.

Thor noticed as he sat that some of the sheets had been scrawled on, with passages crossed out and presumably rewritten, punctuated regularly with blots. “Is that a new play you’re working on?” he asked.

Loki, who’d been trying to light a fire for the last minute, huffed and stood. “No, actually. I wanted to try my hand at other genres. I’m no Dickens, but I think I can manage a simple enough narrative in a book.”

“False humility doesn’t suit you, brother,” Thor said dryly, taking the matchbox from Loki and knelt before the fireplace. He rearranged some of the bits of paper and lit them. In less than a minute, the fire was roaring pleasantly, a contrast to the dreadful chill outside. He tossed the box back to Loki.

“Right. Anyway, I read Ross’ article today about the _barbarians being invited to the Queen’s court._ I’d give it a day till we have a resurgence of the rich in our arena, and perhaps a few days before my family threatens to cut off my inheritance.”

Thor snorted. “It is a tad ridiculous, how Ross seems to hate us so. Will they really cut off your inheritance?”

Loki shrugged. “Now, did I ever deny that? It’s good advertising for us, or so you say. And, no – although _why_ is another subject entirely and not at all relevant to anyone outside of those who already know.”

They chuckled to themselves for a bit, then Thor said, “You know, I believe I met a few of your old friends yesterday.”

“Oh?” The casualness could not have been more forced, and Thor frowned. What exactly had he said to send his friend into a mood?

“A Mr. Duff, I believe.” He waited for Loki’s reaction, and was surprised when he didn’t get one. “He mentioned that he was a part of your company.”

“He would have,” Loki muttered. “His lackey _Maurus Blackwood_ graced my presence yesterday.”

Thor felt the edges of his memory tickle a bit, the name did sound awfully familiar. “Was Blackwood a part of the Army?”

He didn’t have to wait for a verbal response to know that his assumption was correct. He remembered now – there had been tell around the regiments that Blackwood had been under direct command of Loki, and had allowed his commanding officer to get injured in an ambush by alerting the opposing forces to their presence. It had spread as a cautionary tale, to be careful of one’s trail and not risk the lives of the rest of the troops.

“Was that story true, then?” Thor asked, knowing he was pushing but too curious to care.

“If you mean the one where I reaped the efforts of his incredible foolishness, then yes. I was discharged after that failure, though in hindsight I wouldn’t have minded at all were it not for the bullet in my shoulder.”

Thor nodded. He’d heard far more grotesque accounts of the incident, which ranged from a bullet in the neck to a complete massacre at the site with Blackwood as the only survivor. He hadn’t believed them, though he knew that there had been an element of truth to it.

“How is Mr. Duff related to Mr. Blackwood?”

“They must have met through the same circles. It isn’t so uncommon when your families insist on getting to know other wealthy families.” Thor _did_ know this; Jane had complained about it in several of her letters during the time she suffered in finishing school. “Then I suppose they became friends, after Mr. Blackwood left the Army. I haven’t seen Mr. Duff around nearly as much as Blackwood thinks I have.”

Thor nodded. “I suppose they were the reason you chose to quit for a while?”

“Well, yes. The Grandmaster was the one who suggested it, actually.”

Thor hummed. “I’m thinking on touring with a company,” he said. “Around the continent.”

“You _what_.” It wasn’t a question.

“Duff mentioned this small group who wished to travel around the continent and perform, and I thought I could use my name for coverage. If they saw that I promoted them, more people would probably see their shows.”

“And what, pray tell, is the name of this group?”

“The _Dark Elves_.”

Loki snorted. “This is by far the biggest coincidence I’ve encountered, and I say that after I ran away to join the circus.”

Thor had to agree. The first reason they’d started talking was because of the similarities in their names, specifically the mythological attachment. Thor had, after the first year of their partnership, mentioned off-handedly that being an Odinson and Friggason respectively made them both brothers, and neither of them had resisted to the title since, adapting to it easily. While _Asgard Circus_ had an intended reference to the origins of Thor’s name, the _Dark Elves_ were, as Loki had pointed out, a rather large coincidence.

“I don’t suppose I can talk you out of it?” Loki tried.

Thor shook his head. “I will be off by June,” he said, “so that gives us enough time to plan everything. I want you to take over as ringmaster while I’m away.”

“That was never in doubt, brother.”

* * *

Thus was Loki left with the responsibility of running the circus, something he was innately familiar with after a decade of assisting Thor and Heimdall with the same. Jane had meant to join Thor for the first leg of the journey into France, but was held back by some new discoveries in astronomy that needed her attention. Meanwhile, new acts were thinning in number and their audience, instead of being spontaneously huge at irregular intervals, slowed to a gentle steadiness.

This was the second phase of any show, Loki knew, and he was prepared to make it last for as long as he could. The team was great, adapting to his demands with minimal questions and only good suggestions, and the shows went off without a hitch. Things were relatively normal, with Loki and Heimdall feeding the newspapers with Ross’ slander and other sensationalist tactics which wouldn’t cross the line. Negative press was a way of attracting attention, but not the best, which was when they were surprised by the appearance of another journalist who insisted on countering Ross’ insults with praise of their own.

Loki found his rooftop meetings with Sigyn increasing with dramatic frequency, and she often assisted him with planning and amending the show. Something else that was becoming a regularity in their routine was the walks through London. They’d roamed the streets of the city enough that Loki would have been able to draw a map of every nook and corner with his eyes closed, half-asleep. He’d never quite known the place he’d lived in all his life as well as he did now, exploring the secrets it had to offer (and it had plenty) with someone who had swiftly become one of his best friends over the decade Asgard had existed.

Neither of them were keen on acknowledging the _other_ brand of feelings blossoming within them, but this caught the attention of every other person in Asgard. Bets were placed about whose confession would come first, when they would officially announce their courtship to the circus, and how long they would take to notice the others feelings before it turned into an Austenian romance.

Who was to say what happened next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A filler chapter before the last act, just to set the scene for what comes next. I hope you all enjoyed it!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Casually doesn't talk about how I forgot to post the chapter for a while* Hey guys!  
> I apologise in advance for my attempt at writing relationship drama. I only have experience in writing established relationships, so I'm kind of working in the dark with this. I mostly borrowed from the movie itself for the scene, though my dialogues are quite different. I hope you all enjoy it!

Thor had estimated that he would take longer to return home, and had sent a letter in advance to Loki and Jane to warn them of a delayed return. Jane hadn’t thought much of it until she realised that her husband would only be back in the continent after a major part of the year, and even after that it would be an additional three months before she saw him in London. She was glad, though, to have the company of her fellow scientists and friends from Asgard, else she would have been a very lonely lady for the rest of the year.

The circus flourished under Loki and Sigyn’s reign, and the pair had come to the point where they didn’t need to consult the other on decisions that had to be taken immediately – automatically predicting the other’s response and adjusting their propositions accordingly. This couple-like behaviour led to the placement of several bets among the members of the circus, with Heimdall running the whole pool. It was a great source of amusement and frustration to all.

That they cared for each other was obvious, but all of Asgard was exasperated by the way they dodged putting it into words.

“He crossed half the city on foot to get her that chess set she always wanted,” Valkyrie reported one chilly evening.

“Sigyn always makes coded flower arrangements for him,” Sif added. “She makes them for everyone, yes, but as someone who’s long since learned the language…”

“How long will it take for them to stop dancing around each other?” Jane asked.

Little did she know how soon she would be answered.

* * *

“Your move,” Sigyn said, eyeing the board with satisfaction.

Loki raised an eyebrow and swept a gaze across the pieces. He noticed that he would be in trouble if he didn’t move his knight… and so he did.

“Not bad,” she remarked.

“I’m much better at _tafl_ ,” Loki muttered. Sigyn looked up quizzically at him before looking back at the board. “It is a game much like chess, but one army would have to defend its king from the other. The old Norsemen played it.”

“And you are keeping that tradition alive, I suppose?”

He grinned.

“You should teach me that sometime,” she said, deftly moving her pawn onto a square with his bishop. He swore softly and she snorted. It was a rare thing to see Loki swear, and given that society disapproved of men using uncouth language in front of women lest they begin to curse – a futile exercise, given that Loki had learned the more colourful aspects of his vocabulary from Valkyrie’s impressive lexicon of curse words that spanned across several languages – he never did so in public.

He did think that this was a perfect time to do so, though, which was why Sigyn found it so amusing. “If you will teach me the basics of your act,” he said mildly, pausing with his hand over the board. He frowned and moved his knight over to where her pawn had recently annihilated his bishop.

Sigyn tutted and swiped the knight away with her rook. “Check,” she said casually. Then she realised what he’d said. “Are you being serious?”

He nodded, not even bothering to look at the board. Clearly the game was over, his beginner skills in the game not overwrought by years of playing _tafl_ against anyone who agreed. He lowered the king flat against the board in defeat, still not looking. Sigyn followed the movement with her eyes before meeting his clear gaze. She suddenly felt transparent, uncomfortable all of a sudden in this complete honesty between them.

She could see that he felt it too.

She shrugged. “Okay.”

He nodded, looking away. They both stared at different parts of the room awkwardly, not wanting to bring up the elephant in the room. Then, apparently, Loki decided to do so.

“Sigyn…” it was not the first time he’d called her by her first name. The circus was a place free of all propriety, and they were used to calling each other by the first names while they were within its walls. Sigyn, for as long as she’d taken to visiting Loki in his Mayfair residence, didn’t mind at all continuing this practice in private. It would have been strange _not_ to, really.

“Will you accompany me to the theatre tomorrow? There’s a showing of _Twelfth Night_ in Covent Garden that I’ve been meaning to attend.”

Sigyn’s eyes lit up. She couldn’t possibly turn down an opportunity to watch one of her favourite plays, after all. “I’d love to.”

* * *

Loki was elated, the next evening, when he picked Sigyn up at her door. Her normally simple and sensible skirts had been left for a fancier bustle that seemed to be the rage in town. He grinned at the hat she wore – the same, feathered one he’d caught when they first encountered each other. “Miss Ainsworth,” he greeted formally.

“Mr. Friggason.” Sigyn stepped into the carriage with a quick grin and Loki swung back inside after her, calling out to the driver to proceed to the hall.

“This is all rather exciting,” she said, pushing back the curtain to gaze at the streets outside.

Loki smiled. “It is,” he agreed, and turned the conversation to Twelfth Night. The two of them chatted amiably all the way up to the ticket booth and up the stairs, before they were greeted by a few of Loki’s acquaintances.

Oh, how he hated the word.

“Mr. Friggason,” Mr. Duff said in an exaggerated sickly-sweet voice. “I didn’t think I would see you here.”

“Mr. Duff,” Loki greeted in a clipped tone. Sigyn flicked a glance at him before returning her gaze to the couple before them. Dressed to the nines in extravagant and gaudy silk, jewels sparkling mockingly at her from the lady’s throat and rings.

“Charmed to meet you once more, Mr. Friggason,” the lady said with a sneer. “You don’t seem to be keeping better company than in your military days. In fact, I'd say you've stooped even lower.” She raked her eyes across Sigyn's admittedly simple walking suit - which now looked like rags beside the finery of Mrs. Duff.

She hid a flinch and promptly turned around, her mood souring instantly. She’d had quite enough of people’s nonsense for the day, and what was supposed to be a lovely night out had quickly gone downhill. Loki looked dismayed, but thankfully didn't protest when she handed him her ticket stiffly. “My apologies, Mr. Friggason, but I’m afraid I just remembered that I have an appointment elsewhere.”

As she hurried away, she could hear Loki berating the couple for their speech, but she ignored the sound (as much as it gratified her that he was standing up for her). She’d _known_ that this would happen, but she’d thought that one night out wouldn’t be so bad. She sighed and spotted the doors of the circus. She quickly ducked into the arena and turned up the gaslight, swiftly changing into her practice suit.

A few rounds of her routine later, she heard the fall of footsteps echoing on the wooden panels. “Sigyn,” Loki called, sounding slightly out of breath, “I’m dreadfully sorry-”

She sighed. “It’s not your fault. I apologise for spoiling your evening, you should have stayed to watch the show.”

“That isn’t – I didn’t want to stay, not when you’d left.”

She raised an eyebrow at him and saw that his face was now beet red.

“I didn’t mean – Sigyn, I’m sorry about what the Duffs said to you. It’s just-” he broke off with a sigh. “I doubt I have anything to say other than to apologise for what happened. I know you love theatre, and I wish your night wasn’t ruined so by insensitive clouts like the Duffs.”

“It wasn’t your fault, she repeated, unwinding another loop of rope with more force than necessary. “I am quite used to these comments. I’m grateful for your defence in my name,” she added hastily.

“Sigyn…”

Norns, she’d never really thought about how nice her name sounded when he said it, his flawless pronunciation of a name that others would normally stutter through. The way it sounded in his voice.

It sounded rather wonderful, in a way she wouldn’t have realised otherwise.

A lump settled in her throat.

“I understand,” she murmured, but dropped the rope as she sensed that there was something else on his mind. "Alas, some people's minds cannot be changed. Some prejudices remain, though others soothe the blow with their knowledge and reason, such as yourself."

“You must know,” he said after some silence, smiling ruefully. “Surely, you must know how I feel about you. I can see that you feel the same way. It wasn't why I yelled at them for their impudence, but...”

Had it been anyone else, she might have laughed or denied it. Her heart flipped. Hadn’t she been hoping for this very moment for a long while now?

She nodded slowly, watching his eyes light up. She bit her lip. “I do know,” she said. “But the rest of the world wouldn’t see it that way.”

It was very likely that he had been expecting that answer. Though he didn’t appear to take it as a rejection, his shoulders slumped. The light disappeared and she hated that she’d caused it. “The rest of the world has no say in the way Asgard works,” he said carefully.

“Loki…”

“Sigyn.” He sighed. “If you truly do not wish to be with me, to court me, I will accept your rejection and not pursue you any further. However, I don’t think that’s the case here. If the rest of the world judges us for doing what humanity has been doing since the beginning of time, more the fools are they.”

She had a feeling he knew more than he was giving away at the moment, but decided not to press.

“It matters to me, though,” she said at last. “I have been judged by society for being who I am all my life, for the accident of birth, something which I had no control over. I can hardly imagine -” no, what she wanted to say would be too cruel, so she halted and continued, softer than ever, "The smallest drops of water can wear down the largest of mountains, given enough time."

She didn’t say more, she didn’t _have_ to say more. Her friend wouldn’t take it the wrong way, she knew. She knew that he understood. He didn’t argue her point either, or say anything potentially offensive, which gave her more relief than she expected.

“We could pretend,” he murmured. “In Asgard’s walls. We would be safe there. We could pretend that the world doesn’t exist, if that’s what you want.”

Her eyes welled up with tears. She let herself imagine, for a moment, what a future that would be. Courting the man she loved, working with him, watching him succeed in his goals, succeeding in her own, entertaining the populace with her gifts. But there would always be sneers. There would always be people ready to pounce at them from the shadows, the moment they let down their guard.

No, she couldn’t do it. She didn’t want to have to look over her shoulder at people who would scoff at such a courtship.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, feeding the last yard of rope back through its bracket. “It’s just not possible. You – _we_ deserve better than to pretend.”

She chanced a glance at him, regretting the choice when she saw the last glimmer of desperate hope fade from his eyes.

“We shouldn’t have to,” he tried, though she could hear the resignation in his tone.

She turned away. A sigh behind her, then: “Would you at least let me offer you a ride back to your home? The city isn’t as safe this late as it is during the day.”

Sigyn considered the offer, but she really didn’t want to face an awkward carriage ride home. She stooped to pick up her dress and hat. “I think I can manage, but thank you for the offer anyway.”

She caught his slight nod out of the corner of her eye and finally turned. His face was perfectly schooled when their gazes locked, and he simply bowed. “I bid you a good night, then,” he said, and left.

Sigyn sighed and kicked the support beam angrily. A _fine_ night it had been.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we begin our final act. Also, surprise extra-long chapter! The next will also be similar in length, mostly because I overran my estimated word count and rearranged a few scenes.  
> I hope you all enjoy!

Thor was eagerly waiting for the ship to arrive. He had pushed forward the _Dark Elves_ for over a year now, they no longer needed him to promote their play when most of Europe had heard of them through Thor’s influence. Blackwood had offered to endorse their last stops when Thor decided to return to London, and Thor was glad to wash his hands off of that mess. Their performances elicited enough of a positive response for them to continue touring, choosing to return to the continent instead of performing overseas. After tonight’s performance in Paris, he had dined with the rest of the crew.

Quitting the tour was an impulse decision based on an off-handed comment a few of the cast members had made about the circus, and Thor knew he would not regret returning to Asgard soon. To be quite honest, and he rather wouldn’t be at the moment, he would much rather have skipped the last month of the tour and boarded the next ship to the familiar harbour in London. By now he would have been home, laughing over the ridiculous happenings during the year he’d spent abroad with Jane.

It wouldn’t take too long, now, to cross the English Channel. Merely a few days. He’d waited for over a year, he could wait a bit longer. He was simply glad that his latest bit of correspondence would not mention his early arrival, for he wished to surprise Jane and the rest of his friends.

The cacophony of blaring horns alerted him to the arrival of his ship. He grinned, glad that they’d be off in a few hours. He could not _wait_ to be back.

* * *

Neither Loki nor Sigyn were unaware of the bets going around about the status of their relationship, but they appeared to have dwindled since their conversation in the circus that unfortunate night. Loki had tried to joke about it with her, but the half-hearted humour had fallen completely flat with practically nothing that could save the situation.

He could tell that Thor sensed something was wrong, when he returned from his long tour. The showman himself had found himself in a slightly tight spot soon after he reached London in the form of nearly being evicted from his and Jane’s house. That matter had fortunately been settled with his help, and the happy couple reunited.

Loki had never been one to daydream about romantic ventures, but how he wished he and Sigyn could be that happy.

The pair had returned to their easy friendship and banter, though it was all slightly stiffer and cautious than it had been when Loki had first joined the circus and tried to find out exactly where he stood with regards to the rest of its members. The easy commentary they exchanged didn’t entirely vanish, but it felt like Loki was dancing on hot coals these days.

On the subject of the betting pools, Loki noticed that people seemed a lot less sure about what exactly was going on between them – they were trying to keep it natural and unchanged, despite the fact that the simple admission that it _wasn’t_ made it nigh on impossible to do so.

He absolutely hated it, hated that others’ opinions could hurt someone so much that they’d rather keep themselves away from a source of happiness than face the alternative. Obviously he wasn’t bitter towards Sigyn or in the least offended by her reaction. He couldn’t begin to put himself in her shoes – there were too many factors that separated their identities – but he could understand _why_ , and respect her choice, regardless of his feelings on the matter.

When Thor brought it up with him over a glass of the Cognac he’d brought from France, Loki had deflected to the point where the conversation could probably see an image of itself in the air. Thankfully, he kept from mentioning it again.

“You know, under any other circumstances, Sigyn would _love_ the betting pools,” Loki said, surprising Thor with his voluntary sharing of this information.

“Says the man named after the god of mischief.” Thor wasn’t as familiar with Sigyn as Loki and Jane were, since he was normally preoccupied with preparing the arena with Heimdall.

Loki shot him a look. “You say that because you only had the dry facts. Sigyn has as much as a, ah, mischievous streak as I do. I daresay your Jane does too.”

Thor grinned and sipped at his wine. He remembered the pranks he and Jane had pulled as children, and knew that she would take particular happiness in something like this. “She’s not _my_ anything,” Thor said, “but I have to agree.”

“So tell me,” Loki continued, stretching out in the armchair, “what other memorable occasions did you observe during your travel?”

Thor grinned. “I don’t believe I mentioned the time Blackwood decided to bring an elephant into the square…”

* * *

Tension was running high in Asgard. It had barely been a few weeks since Thor had returned, but practically everyone was feeling the stress that radiated off its founder. They tried not to let it show in their performance, but the dwindling audience was especially concerning to Heimdall and Loki, who had coordinated the shows such that people weren’t bored.

“If this continues we’ll have to sell the circus,” Thor said gloomily one day.

Loki and Heimdall exchanged a look. This was their friend’s best project, and they’d never once heard him speak of giving up. Besides, the lives of all those who lived and worked here depended on the circus. “You cannot be serious.”

Thor fixed a look on them. “Our audiences have shrunk back. At this rate, we won’t be able to maintain the arena or the animals.”

“We can change the acts,” Loki said. “Start another marketing campaign, perhaps have a few performers tour the continent. It worked for the _Dark Elves_ , did it not?”

Thor sighed. “Do you really think managers will allow people from the _circus_ to perform in their _hallowed halls_?”

Loki shrugged. “I could speak to some of them, if you’d like,” he said. “The Grandmaster owes me a favour, anyway.”

Heimdall nodded. “I’ve never liked the Grandmaster, but he is one of the best connected men in the city.”

“No, that would be me,” Loki said with a grin, reaching over and refilling his glass with some wine. The liquid glimmered in the firelight. He turned to Thor. “I thought people loved seeing the automations?”

“Apparently one went rogue, so Stark decided to keep them aside till he fixed it and checked all the rest.”

“And the boy he took under his wing?”

Thor grinned. “He seems to be following in Sif and Sigyn’s footsteps, though Stark seems to have made an apprentice of him. The two of them, as well as Rhodes, have created these ingenious mechanical suits of armour they can fly in. Stark wouldn’t let young Parker join, but he made a suit for Rhodes.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, impressed. “I daresay he could join both acts, once his schooling is over.”

Thor nodded. Young Peter Parker had been working under Anthony Stark, their most spontaneous act if only because of his creativity in designing automations. Often the man took his older creations apart just to put them back together again and see if he could do it better. Peter seemed to be following in his footsteps, though he appeared to be quite agile and comfortable under Sif and Sigyn’s tutelage as well.

Loki _had_ observed the boy’s progress from afar, as well as through Sigyn’s reports. Just before he could reply, an automaton lumbered over into the arena and hurled a block of something at the pair. They dodged it easily, though Loki flung a small dagger at one of its joints, collapsing it easily. Thor winced at the clatter, but Loki simply shrugged.

“I’ll apologise to Stark later.”

Thor sighed. “We need to invest in fireproofing,” he thought out loud. The heap of metal was sparking and dangerously close to lighting the hay in the elephant enclosure, so the two of them carefully bundled it up and carried it away.

Loki hummed, not quite paying attention. “I suppose we could just tell Rhodes to remind Stark to set it up,” he said distractedly.

Thor nodded, and frowned. “What’s this?” he muttered, swiftly reading a small column detailing… something, about a theatre company Thor had been eyeing for a while now.

“Mr. Odinson?” a small voice called. Young Parker, Thor placed, looking up from his newspaper clipping. “Telegram for you, sir.”

“Thank you,” he said, nearly ripping it as he opened it up. His heart sank, and he turned to Loki. “Do you think you can manage the circus for me for a while longer?”

His brother snapped to attention. “Why?”

He handed him the telegram. Loki read it once, then once more, and swore.

“Have you considered that _this_ is why the people aren’t watching the shows? People want to see the ringleader in the arena, not offshore touring with some obscure company.”

“They _have_ a ringleader,” Thor said pointedly.

“My competence in your position is _besides_ the-”

“Will you do it?”

Loki glared at him. “Seven hells, brother,” he said at last. “It’s not like you’re giving me a choice.”

* * *

When Thor had left the circus once more to Loki’s expertise, he hadn’t expected the events that would unfold. Maurus Blackwood had taken up the patronage for the _Dark Elves_ and carried out the next leg of the tour graciously before abandoning the troupe. Thor had assumed that, like most groups, the young actors of _Sakaar_ got along well enough with each other and others. He certainly hadn’t anticipated them to be at each others’ throats the minute he reached the inn they stayed at.

He also _definitely_ didn’t like the way they eagerly pounced upon him, turning their frustrations towards him and causing a scene. Thor had nearly had to bellow for them to fall silent before coolly asking them to sleep on the issue (or _issues,_ plural, as they seemed to have) and only bringing it up once more if they absolutely had to. He wasn’t too keen on abandoning his business, though he felt no worry about its condition – Loki was the astute showrunner he tried to be, it was nearly effortless for the trickster to step into the role of ringmaster when Thor asked him to.

Fortunately for him, since his arrival, any arguments were reduced to hushed discussions, and frankly he couldn’t care what they spoke of, so long as he was being paid the fee he imposed for his presence and introduction. As small as a role (and payment) it was, it also warmed him to introduce new art to others. After all, that _was_ the entire point of the circus. He _did_ , on that note, wish he was back in London in his own familiar arena. He was rather tired of all the mingling that came with accompanying the _Gladiators of Sakaar_ around the continent.

They pulled a fast one on him, though, when they announced that they were going to America. Thor had barely held in his temper when they declared this over breakfast. It hardly took him a minute to make his decision, since his correspondence with Loki had yielded a rather simple solution. “I’m not joining.”

The room went silent in a nanosecond.

“Mr. Odinson,” Korg (surely that had to be a nickname, but Thor hadn’t heard the man referred to as otherwise) tried, “do be reasonable. With this, the tour-”

“I’ve made up my mind, sir,” Thor said firmly, and he must have noticed it in his expression as he returned to his breakfast with a simple nod.

Mr. Duff cleared his throat. “Mr. Odinson, if I may suggest a compromise – it seems that these gentlemen require a patron. I shall be travelling to the States for my own business, I could take over the patronage role and introduce them to the audiences. I could help them schedule shows in America and promote them – I am rather influential in those parts. And don’t worry about your earnings, I can forward the sum on to you.”

Thor nodded in assent. “I could arrange for someone else to pick up patronage once your business is over,” he offered. “I have a few suitable candidates in mind who would be happy to help.”

“Of course,” Duff said, and Thor wondered why he felt an inkling of unease at the polite response. Perhaps he was imagining it; at any rate it wasn’t important at the moment.

He had to go and buy a ticket for the next ship to London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super excited to post the next chapter (and the last). The two of them are my favourites, and the most canonically compliant (with regards to The Greatest Showman). At any rate, Loki being the showrunner twice kind of hints at the two times he was on the throne in the MCU.
> 
> I initially couldn't decide whether to make the Dark Elves a troupe or the Gladiators of Sakaar, so I ended up using both. They become about as relevant as the mention of Jenny Lind towards the end of the movie, but there's no extra romantic subplot.
> 
> See you all at Chapter 14!


	14. Chapter 14

“These gangs are getting out of control,” Loki muttered. His hair was tied back and reached to his shoulders now – _unfitting for a man of your stature_ , his family might have said, right before disowning him entirely – and he was gripping the rim of his hat tightly.

“They’ve got some nerve, vandalising the place,” the Valkyrie replied scornfully. “Personally, I think they are a bunch o’ cowards for runnin’ away.”

“So do I,” Sif piped up. “If it comes to it, we are more than capable of holding our own in a scuffle.”

Loki shook his head, holding back a smirk. That _was_ true – while they would mostly be underestimated by any attackers, the ladies of the circus could absolutely tear down an entire gang with no external assistance. Add Rogers and Barnes’ muscle, Stark’s temperamental automations and the others in Asgard, they were an impenetrable wall. He wasn’t sure why he was on edge about the gangs, save for the vigour and frequency at which they appeared and defaced their sanctuary.

“Well, then,” he said, tugging his hair loose and donning his hat, “We should take our places, ready for battle.”

“The first of the armies hath arrived?” Sigyn asked dryly.

Loki smirked and pointed at her for emphasis. “Exactly,” he said, ignoring the light pang of his heart when they locked gazes for a second.

Sif muttered something under her breath and stood. “I shall be in the arena, then, _training for battle_ ,” she added pointedly. “Good day to you, O Seer.”

“You mistake me for my brother,” Loki retorted without skipping a beat. “Though I daresay it might be better to prepare the arena, I think I see some tourists heading over to buy last-minute tickets.”

There was a booth reserved for tourists specifically for this purpose. Loki had wondered why they didn’t let the others fill the entire space at first, but once their audience flow had become more predictable, he had to marvel at the showman’s foresight.

“Aye, the show must go on,” Sigyn said, and before Loki could reply, she was gone.

* * *

That evening’s show passed in a haze, and Loki found himself simply gazing at Sigyn as she and Sif vaulted expertly through their routine. He normally would have been preparing for the next act, but they’d all gone through the motions for years and worked like a well-oiled machine. He supposed he could spare a few minutes to watch the pair swing through the air gracefully instead of trying to rally the others into position, since they were more than capable of doing so themselves.

When the lights dimmed and the ring of flame was lit to introduce the next group, Loki snapped out of his daze, instantly aware of the increased disturbance among the audience. He couldn’t say much, not without throwing the programme into disarray, and while they noticed it backstage, it didn’t appear to be interfering with the acts themselves. It seemed to ebb too, halfway through the show. Loki could only hope that the evening saw no change from routine.

Fortunately, this held true until the penultimate act, when the disturbance returned with earnest. Stark, who was in the arena, grimaced for a moment before sliding down the visor of his helmet. He started up the suit and hovered in the air for a second or two, building up the suspense to actually swirling around the hall. The usual _oohs_ and _aahs_ were strangely absent, though the buzz of conversation grew in volume.

Several of the people in the audience tutted at the offenders, and one man even barked, “Quiet down, lads!”

Loki could sense the disaster incoming and signalled for them to wrap up the show. It would be better for the people to leave sooner, if only to get the unruly members out. There was a palpable tension in the air as the performers concluded their performance, though one could only tell as much if they were backstage.

“Something seems off,” Sigyn murmured, shifting to peek around the curtains beside Loki.

Loki hummed a soft affirmative, stepping out from behind the curtain into the arena. Sigyn nudged him lightly and nodded at a group of men who hadn’t left the hall yet.

“Gentlemen, I’m afraid the show is over for tonight,” Loki said carefully, “Though I must say I’m flattered if you choose to stay.”

“Shut it down, mate,” slurred one of the men, quite visibly inebriated. Loki sighed; this was not going to be pleasant.

“You shoulda stuck to your plays,” another shouted.

“Yeah, get these freaks to where they belong,” a third piped up. Sigyn stiffened beside him, and he subtly brushed his hand against hers when he moved towards the young men. He _really_ didn’t like the implications of that statement, but he rather the situation was dealt with reasonably and without undue violence. Heimdall was already at his side, and faced the men down as well.

“Gentlemen, I _insist_ that you leave,” he said firmly.

“You gonna make us?” the first man asked, rising shakily to his feet.

“I doubt it will be hard, considering you do not seem to be able of standing upright without swaying like a sapling in the breeze,” Loki snapped. This was apparently the wrong thing to say, and the man roared wordlessly. He flung the presumably empty bottle of liquor at him. Loki sidestepped it easily and reached for the dagger at his waist before reconsidering the thought. _These were civilians._

The men took advantage of his momentary hesitation and charged at them. Loki was no stranger to a brawl – he had received ample training on hand-to-hand combat before he had been released to the field – but this was by far the strangest fight he had been in.

Loki heard a distant crash and Valkyrie shout, “You don’t like the show? We don’t like you either!”

Her cry was accompanied by the collective thumps of everyone’s footsteps as they rushed to help the brawlers. The arena was in chaos, and while the circus seemed to be holding their own, things were thrown about and nobody noticed when an errant beer bottle knocked over a lantern, lighting the nearby hay lining on fire.

* * *

“So what made you come rushing home all of a sudden?” Jane asked when Thor had finished embracing her tightly. She still hadn’t let go of him, and they were very much in danger of falling over his suitcase if they didn’t move it anytime soon.

“I missed you,” he said simply, ducking his head to kiss her. He could feel her grin against his lips before she pulled away, looking rather sly.

“That sounds an awful lot like humbug,” she muttered, surprising Thor into chuckles.

“From _your_ prince of humbug,” he replied, drawing them both back to the day they’d read the satirical title in the news.

Jane started to reply, but frantic pounding at the front door startled both of them. “Goodness, who could be here at this time of night?” she wondered aloud as Thor moved to open it.

“Mr. Odinson,” a police officer panted, and Thor heard the distant siren of steam pump engines, “Your place – it’s burning down!”

Thor met Jane’s wide-eyed gaze with one of dawning horror. His blood turned cold in his veins, and all that propelled him forward was her arms as she pushed him out into the gravel path. “Go, I’ll see you later,” she said urgently, snapping him out of his momentary haze.

He nodded and ran down the path, leaving the poor officer in the dust as he sprinted in the direction of his beloved circus.

* * *

The place was a mess. The entire building was on fire, and a large crowd had amassed around it. Thor elbowed his way past the ogling bystanders, some of whom were kind enough to let him pass on their own. Heimdall spotted him before he saw the other man and called out to the others.

“Heimdall, how did this happen?”

“There was a fight and something must have fallen – we’ve mostly gotten everyone out,” he said, sweeping a piercing gaze around the performers.

“Where’s Sigyn?” Loki asked suddenly.

“You didn’t see her?” Sif returned. Both of them exchanged a look of dread before bolting in the direction of the circus. Valkyrie cried out and seized Sif by the waist, hauling her back with a _“Don’t you dare_!”

Loki had already darted inside the building before Thor could react, and he was half ready to follow when Heimdall said, “Give him a minute. If they don’t return, you and I can go inside and try to find them.”

Thor tugged off his scarf, looping it across his face in preparation. The next thirty seconds had to be the longest in his life before he heard a shout and saw Sigyn running towards them. “The rigs fell and I couldn’t-”

Thor didn’t hear anything else, he was already racing into the building as he pulled the makeshift mask taut. He tucked the loose ends of the scarf into his jacket and pulled it closer around him, blanketing himself securely in the thick material. “ _LOKI!”_

A wall of heat enveloped him when he ran past the line of flames. His eyes stung and watered thanks to the smoke, so he hastily brushed the tears away. He couldn’t afford to be blinded like this, not here and especially not now. “ _Brother, answer me!_ ”

One of the beams crashed and fell to the floor in front of him. He skidded to a stop, listening keenly for anything –

And there it was. A faint cry, which grew louder as he stumbled over the flaming beam in the direction of the arena. “ _In here!_ ”

Thor could have cried from the relief he felt, but he persisted in his search. “Loki, where are you?”

Thor heard more shouts, but aside from what was lost amid his smoke-laced coughs, he could only make out the words _pit_ and _beam_. Thankfully, he caught sight of the bright emerald jacket Loki insisted on wearing when he ran the show. Thor had often tried to convince him to wear his signature red, but ceased when the endeavour nearly got him stabbed.

He skidded to Loki’s side, appalled to see the other man’s pallor – or what he could make of it through his smarting eyes. “Are you-”

“Get the damn pillar off my foot, then ask me how I feel,” Loki interrupted, and only then did Thor notice the large support beam that was dangerously close to crushing Loki’s leg.

Thor positioned himself by the pillar and turned to look at his brother. “Three, two, one,” he counted down, before pouring in all his energy and muscle into lifting the wooden beam off the ground. He groaned at the shifted balance, hefting it well above Loki’s leg before shoving it a good half metre away from them. Loki hissed when he tried to move, and Thor spared the few moments he could to assess it, the way he might have more than a decade ago for one of his fellow soldiers.

“Minimal burns, fortunately,” he murmured, “but it appears to be broken.”

“Oh, the Heavens help me with a _broken bone_ ,” Loki snarled, coughing into his elbow. “You need to get out of here,” he added, flinching when another pillar broke away from the support and crashed next to them. Thor could feel it as it brushed past his shoulder.

“I noticed,” Thor retorted, waiting till Loki raised himself into a somewhat upright position to pull off his scarf and set it beside his friend’s leg. “It seems to be a clean break,” he said. “I’m going to set it.”

Loki groaned but said nothing. Thor didn’t bother counting down this time, feeling for the break and ignoring Loki’s sharp, shallow breathing before he set the bone and wrapped his scarf tightly around the limb. Loki yelped but didn’t protest when Thor pulled the knot taut. “Pity we can’t use a splint,” he murmured, and Thor glanced up to see that his eyes were closed.

“Help me up,” Loki added a moment later, and it was this statement that took Thor aback. Loki preferred to make and fix his own mistakes before he would ask someone else for help. “Brother, I’m serious,” Loki snapped, turning his head and coughing into his shoulder. “If we do not leave now, we _will_ be trapped. And you seem to be insistent on not leaving me behind -” a cough – “not that I’m complaining…”

“You’re right, of course,” and with that, Thor pulled him up so that he was standing – mostly leaning against Thor, but he was upright anyway. He surged forward when a pillar crashed inches behind them, ignoring Loki’s muffled cry. There was no time to worry about pain when they could be buried under the collapsing foundations of this building.

Thor had never thought of it as _large_ , but the small corridor to and from the antechamber and entrance now seemed labyrinthine, each step miniscule as he drew smoke-laced air into his lungs. There were rules about how to escape from fires, of course – every city-dweller with a fireplace knew its perils – but he couldn’t remember them or even think of anything except taking a step forward, then another, and so on until they were out.

They were barely out of the arena before the entire skylight collapsed, sending a wave of sawdust, ash and fire billowing towards them. The heat that radiated from the fire didn’t help with Thor’s watering eyes, but he suspected that if they remained here any longer his tears may actually evaporate.

His vision darkened before him and lights flickered at its periphery. Was the lack of oxygen getting to him, or was it simply the fire? Fortunately, a few steps forward sent him outside into open air. He coughed and vaguely heard voices shouting their names, and hands pulling them away from the flaming building. He thought he could hear someone calling for medical assistance, but tuned it all out and just kept breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this chapter took me the longest to write, but it's my favourite. Right up there with chapter 15, aka the last one :D
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed it!


	15. Chapter 15

The next week passed in a flurry of doctors advising Thor to rest and Jane insisting the same, since he’d inhaled what was possibly an industrial plant’s worth of smoke from the fire. When he was finally discharged, he was finally told what came of the fire. The entire circus was destroyed – burnt to a crisp, Darcy Lewis said with a sympathetic squeeze of his shoulder, right to the foundations – and the performers were mostly uninjured, save some minor burns and lacerations from the fight.

Thor visited the hospital again at the end of the fortnight, after meeting with several agents about what could be done regarding rebuilding Asgard. _Not much_ , they’d told him. It was better to simply sell the land and be done with it. He said as much to Loki during his visit, since he was doing much better after all the bed rest.

“I heard,” Loki said, turning over the morning’s paper to the front page. Thor caught a glance of the headline and snorted.

 _“The Fall of Asgard?_ ” he asked dryly.

“A tad dramatic, but there are no literary allusions to Ragnarok, at least,” Loki said. “The article is utter drivel,” he added when Thor took the paper to read. “Ross couldn’t hope to have a fraction of the talent other reporters have, but we already knew that.”

“For someone named after the god of lies, you seem to be well acquainted with the truth,” Thor quipped, raising an eyebrow at the contents of the article. Loki was right, of course, there was naught to be made of it.

“Now,” he said, leaning forward eagerly, “Tell me what happened in the last week. I’ve been cooped up here like a pet bird for a fortnight and I know for a fact you were released last Saturday.”

* * *

It took another week before Loki was released from the hospital, and even then he was sentenced to stay housebound with strict instructions not to strain his still healing leg. It barely hurt him anymore, thanks to Thor’s quick field setting of the bone, but it was absolutely infuriating to stay at home with practically nothing to do.

“Weren’t you saying only yesterday that you were planning on writing that-”

“That was yesterday, brother, and only an idea.”

Thor grinned and Loki huffed and pushed himself against the headboard, grabbed the half-finished book from his nightstand. Only Mary Shelley could distract him from his mood now, he thought.

“I’m afraid I have to leave now, brother, I promised I’d assist Jane with her astrolabe.”

“Not the oversized one she tried to build last year?”

“That’s the one,” Thor said with a grin, lifting his hat off the rack. “Don’t worry, brother, I’m leaving you in good hands.”

Loki chose not to ask what he meant and only nodded in farewell. Once Thor was out, he’d darted to his desk, searching in his drawers for a decent quill to write with. So what if he hadn’t exactly been truthful about writing that play? It wasn’t like Thor knew which one he was writing.

“Goodness, caring for you must be like herding cats away from boxes,” an amused voice said from the door.

Loki started badly, slamming his head against the desk and accidentally upsetting an inkwell. A squeak and footsteps were all he heard before he straightened to see Sigyn frantically dabbing at the spilled ink. “I wasn’t expecting you,” he said, a bit unnecessarily. He rubbed the back of his head, wincing slightly.

“I did not mean to startle you,” Sigyn said, once she was satisfied that the ink was entirely wiped off the wood. Not that it was possible to tell – there were several stains from previously spilt inkwells – one of the hazards of being a professional writer, Loki had said several times to those who cast a judgemental glare at it.

“And yet,” Loki said. “What brings you here, then?”

“The same thing as Thor, to keep you entertained so that you don’t try to bring this place down out of boredom,” she said wryly.

“You overestimate my capabilities. I happen to be limited by a broken leg.”

Sigyn shrugged and tossed the blotting paper and rags into the wastepaper basket. She stood by it for a moment and then found herself crossing the length of the room and tightly hugging her friend. She could feel him stiffen under the unexpected contact before relaxing and embracing her back.

“Not that I don’t like this,” he said hesitantly, his voice muffled by her dress, “I’m a bit confused as to why-”

“I’m sorry,” she blurted, releasing him and stepping away. Loki looked perplexed.

“What for? If it was the fire, I highly doubt-”

“Not,” she interrupted, stopping herself and breathing deeply once. “ _Not_ ,” she repeated, “for the fire. I’m apologising for after the play.”

She didn’t need to specify. There was only one she could have meant.

“Sigyn-”

“Please let me finish,” she said, not quite sure that she would be able to continue if she had any excuse to stop. Loki nodded warily and said nothing.

“I was wrong. The world can burn for all I care, they don’t have a say in my life. I’ve been thinking about what I said that night, and these past weeks have given me a new perspective. No, that’s not right,” she said with a sigh, “they led me to the conclusion I was avoiding from the start.”

“And that is?”

“I don’t want to pretend,” she said. “A life of concealment and secrets is not worth living. We would be miserable, which was why I didn’t – why I rejected you, that night.”

Loki nodded. The charade would gnaw at them until they ended up stir-crazy, like a couple in a tragedy. It wasn’t what he wanted either, but he’d been willing to take it if Sigyn could.

“I wasn’t finished,” Sigyn added, drawing his attention again. “I don’t want to pretend, but I _do_ want to be with you. Romantically.”

He looked puzzled. “My dear, I will not take offence if you decide that you want no more trouble from the ones outside Asgard.”

She bit her lip, steeled herself, looked him in the eye and said with finality, “There will always be people who say these things about me. I may have thought I couldn’t take it _then_ , but I realised I would much rather spend the rest of my life ignoring them with someone I care about at my side than alone and in fear of them, for that leads to naught but misery.”

He blinked silently at that, long enough for Sigyn to wonder what he would say. At some point, she idly noticed, she’d taken hold of both his hands in hers. She wasn’t expecting him to fluidly stand, but was delighted when he _did_ reply with a “ _Thank the Norns_ ” and a kiss.

* * *

Thor hopped over some of the rubble, kicking aside the charred pieces of wood. “There’s nothing salvageable in there,” he confirmed.

“I suspected as much,” Loki said with a sigh. He pushed the small block of wood by his foot away with his cane, which his friends had insisted should be custom-made. They’d gone ahead and ordered the piece for him before he’d caught wind of their plans, upon which he’d convinced them to let him pay for the piece, having no doubt that they’d been rather extravagant in materials for its design.

True enough, when they brought the cane to him, he found that the top had been made of engraved silver – in the pattern of interlocked snakes, a touching callback to his mythological counterpart, with emeralds for eyes. It was safe to say he was incredibly pleased with the design. As it was, he only needed the cane for balance since he felt a bit uncomfortable resting his weight on the previously injured leg.

“The only way we can afford to buy more land is with the finances sent over from the _Gladiators’_ shows.”

Loki and Heimdall stared at him. “What?”

“Do you truly not know?” Loki asked. “They wrote about it a few days ago, the troupe stopped all performances once they reached the States. Apparently Duff used the opportunity to flee and disappear, and they disbanded soon after with their fame to integrate with American society. Not that I blame them, we are a rather infuriating people.”

Thor exhaled slowly, flabbergasted by this revelation. But that wasn’t just it, and Loki went on to explain how this was possible a plan that had been in the works since Duff had last taken over the show. The police had sent out notices to American forces, but the family taken up new identities and it was likely they had made for Canadian sanctuary, with Maurus Blackwood ready with new identities as their hidden accomplice. That must have been why he was so eager to take over the first show, Thor realised.

“Gods,” Thor breathed.

“Quite.”

“We’ll have to give up Asgard, then,” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Loki scoffed. “You’re always on about how _Asgard is not a place, it’s a people._ ”

Thor wondered how that could be useful, but Heimdall was already voicing another issue. “Property in central London is far too expensive even _with_ that money.”

Wait. “No, of course it is,” he murmured, a smile breaking out on his face.

“I doubt that’s something to _rejoice_ about,” Loki said.

“No, no – we don’t need to buy property here,” Thor said hurriedly. “There’s plenty of land by the docks you can own for almost nothing!”

“You might have forgotten about construction fees, but they’re very much required even if you bought the land at a diminished price. We do have my inheritance, but I don't think that would be enough to build a hall _half_ this size before my parents cut me off.” Granted, his parents already _had_ cut him off from any further windfalls, though they'd left his inheritance untouched. For now.

“Oh, no, that was _far_ from what I was suggesting.”

Loki and Heimdall looked at him quizzically, and Thor grinned.

“All I need is a large tent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! I hope you all enjoyed this story, and, if you're reading this, thank you so much for sticking till the end!


End file.
